


A Study in Chaos

by Island_Hopper



Category: Bonkers
Genre: Comedy, Disney, Disney Afternoon, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5017525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_Hopper/pseuds/Island_Hopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a new case brings Lucky back to Toontown, there's only one cop who can help him - his former partner. Of course, that's if Lucky doesn't kill him first. Lucky/Bonkers friendship. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm thinking a dusky orange this time, with just a hint of burnt sienna to highlight my cheekbones and a twinge of persimmon to offset my irises, perhaps rounded out into a smooth shade of gamboge beneath my chin. What do you think? Too rock 'n roll?" Bonkers asked, studying the color wheel in front of him carefully. He rubbed his chin. "Maybe just tennè on the cheekbones. Burnt sienna might give the impression that I'm an insomniac."

Marilyn Piquel shook her head knowingly and dug out a large pen from the bottom drawer of her mobile ink-and-pen cart. "You know, the classics never go out of style, Bonkers."

He considered carefully for a moment and then declared, "You're right. Good old fashioned orange it is!"

That settled, Marilyn grabbed a bottle of orange animating ink and began mixing it carefully it in the tray before her. It seemed they had that same conversation each time Bonkers came in for a touch-up, or when he came in for a repair after running afoul of the kind of trouble only an animator could fix. While humans went to doctors for medical attention, toons needed animators to cure what ailed them. Unbeknownst to most humans, toons could and did get injured from time to time; if a toon knew a blow was coming, they could prepare themselves for it and thus remain unharmed. However, if someone took a toon by surprise, they were as susceptible to injury as any human. That was why on screen, anvils could fall and safes could be thrown at toons and they were no worse for the wear – but if those things happened when a toon wasn't expecting it, or when it was completely unscripted, it could spell disaster. Luckily for animators like Marilyn, this meant job security.

Now in the latter portion of her mid-twenties, Marilyn had followed her passion for cartoons to animation school. She dreamed of someday animating her own characters and shows that would be watched by little boys and girls as eager as she had been for animated entertainment, but had quickly found upon graduation that the job market for animators was a tough one, and thus had taken a part-time job with the Hollywood division of the LAPD as an animator technician. Now that the Toon Division was comprised of at least a few dozen toon officers, she had a steady stream of clients who were always in need of a repair job after particularly rough cases, or less commonly, for re-inking sessions. Toons needed a complete re-inking every few years or so, to keep them from looking faded and washed out; poorer toons, down on their luck, sometimes found it difficult to pay for this and thus there was a reason they were called "washed-up": they often looked as though the color had started to wash right out of them.

As the bright orange color pooled in the bottom of the tray, Marilyn listened cheerfully as Bonkers continued to excitedly explain the reason for that day's session.

"It makes perfect sense now!" Bonkers exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in his excitement. "All of the required overtime, all of the cases I've wrapped up without a word of thanks from Grating – he was  _preparing_ me for this promotion! Why, I was half of the  _original_ Toon Division! Didja know that, Marilyn?"

"Sure. My dad was the other half, remember?" Marilyn answered, giving the toon across from her a measured grin.

"Of course I remember!" Bonkers burst. "I remember when you were just a pint-sized tot in your mama's sweaters. And just look at you now! All grown up and workin' for the thin blue line, just like your Daddy!"

"If not exclusively," she said with a shy smile. Marilyn was still trying her best to break into animation –  _real, actual_ animation, she always told herself – but until her big break came, her current job certainly had its perks…like getting to hang out with certain favorite cartoon stars of her childhood.

"I've been with the force for over fifteen years!" Bonkers had continued to rally as if speaking to an invisible audience, standing on the small stool reserved for toons needing inking. "Fifteen years of busting hardened criminals, breaking up crime syndicates, risking life, limb and tail, rolling with the big boys in blue!"

"I don't think it's been  _quite_ like that," a lazy voice called from the doorway. Marilyn and Bonkers turned to see Barney Klyser, Bonkers' partner for the past year, standing apathetically in the doorway, his wide girth taking up the bulk of it. He munched languidly on a donut. "Far as I can tell, it's mostly been cats up trees and jaywalkers."

"That jaywalker was  _obviously_ on his way to commit a  _major_ crime, if the length of his stride was any indication," Bonkers retorted, folding his arms in front of him haughtily. "You can tell a lot about the criminal element by the pace of their perambulation."

"Perambulation, eh? Thank goodness he wasn't jogging then, or he'd been brought up on murder charges," Barney drawled, shoving the other half of the doughnut into his mouth and chewing noisily. He wiped his hands on the vast expanse of stomach in front of him. "Getting re-inked for the promotion announcement this afternoon, hm partner?"

"A toon needs to look his best," Bonkers said proudly, rolling up his sleeve and holding out an arm towards Marilyn, who was readying her inking pen. "A little touch-up here and there, every now and then, once in a blue moon, to keep the colors bright and the gentleman in sporting shape is all, Barney. Humans could learn a thing or two from us toons, you know."

"Right. I know I always feel better after I've been slathered in orange ink," Barney said sarcastically as he stretched his hands upwards, still groggy from his afternoon nap in their office. He yawned, scratching his sides. "Although, if you want  _my_ opinion, you're gussying up for a whole lotta nothin', partner. Grating'll never promote a toon to lieutenant, even if it is just the Toon Division."

"Hey, hey! I don't like your tone, mister man!" Bonkers scolded, bounding over to Barney and sticking a disapproving index finger into his chest. "The Toon Division is an  _integral_ part of the Hollywood PD! Grating said so himself!"

"He said it's an  _irritating_ part, and I have to say that most days I agree with him," Barney retorted, swatting Bonkers' hand away. "If toons could just behave themselves and not cause so much ever-lovin' trouble in this town, this department wouldn't be necessary and you wouldn't have a job – and that goes for you, too, Miss Pickle," he said as he pointed at Marilyn, who scowled. "Toon cops are more trouble than they're worth."

"Then why do you even  _work_ for the Toon Division?" Marilyn asked sharply with an icy look on her face.

"Because it's the easiest department to work for," Barney answered with a shrug, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.  _"Anyone_  can get promoted in this place."

Bonkers tsked. "Well, that's where you're wrong. Not just  _anyone_ gets promoted around here, you know. My stapler has never been promoted. Neither has my trashcan. And neither have I. Doesn't have anything to do with the  _caliber_ of the officer necessarily – of course it doesn't – it's just…you have to  _wait_ for the right position to open up. It has to fit, like a really old shoe you've had for a long time. Know what I mean?"

"Look, all I know is that I've spent the last ten years sitting on my butt munching donuts and still managed a promotion to detective and even sergeant a few years ago. Give me another few years and I'll be captain!"

"Barney? You forgot lieutenant," Bonkers whispered helpfully into his partner's ear as he perched on Barney's massive shoulder. "See, the police ranks go officer, detective, sergeant, lieutenant _, then_  captain!"

"Well what on earth do you think today's promotion hearing is all about? You don't really think it'll be  _you,_ do you?" Barney grabbed Bonkers by his collar and set him gently on the floor.

Bonkers' face fell slightly but he tried to mask it with a petulant glare. "And why wouldn't it be?"

Barney sighed and sank down onto one knee, no mean feat for a man of his size. He put a sympathetic hand on Bonker's shoulder. "Look, Bonkers, you – well, I don't know about a  _good_ cop, but you – well, you got a lot of  _heart._ A lot of… _drive_. And I know you only want to keep this town safe, for toons  _and_ humans. And hey, you've been around since the  _beginning,_ right? Back when it was just you and that Pickle guy – "

"Pi _quel,"_ Marilyn piped up in a cross voice.

" – but look kid, the guy Grating picks today is going to be in charge of the whole Toon Division. Every single last officer in this department is going to report to him. And the only guy who's  _above_ the new boss is gonna be Grating. So the guy Grating picks – well, it's about more than just  _wanting_ to be a good cop, or  _trying_ to be. The guy he picks has to be…reliable. Steady. Dependable. And Grating has to  _like_ working with the guy he picks, and you and Grating…well, you aren't exactly his favorite guy in the department. And, not to mention, you're still just an  _officer._ A promotion from an officer to lieutenant is...well, it's a big leap, usually only for guys who have busted a huge case or something." Barney sighed. "And if it weren't for the punishment and temporary demotion stemming from being caught sleeping on the job, you and I wouldn't even be  _working_ together," he reminded himself with an annoyed look on his face.

"You mean…you don't think I'm going to get it?" Bonkers asked softly, wringing his hat in his hands with huge tears brimming in his eyes dramatically. He threw himself on his partner, sobbing at the top of his lungs. "Say it ain't  _so,_ Barn! I can take a hundred anvils to the head, a thousand safes to my big toe, but this promotion means more to me than all the play or pay contracts in the world!" His sobbing stopped momentarily. "How'm I doing? Heart-wrenching enough?"

"Eh…yeah," Barney whispered. "But look kid, you're still not going to get it."

Bonkers stood up to his full height (which still wasn't particularly full, or particularly high) and slammed his hat back down on his head, cocking it at an angle. "Bonkers D. Bobcat has overcome plenty of obstacles in his lifetime. Being unemployed. Being homeless. Not having enough fingers to wear fancy gloves. But here I am – gainfully employed and locked into a lease at least through June. And the fancy glove shop down the street from that  _other_ fancy glove shop sells customized gloves. Smashing down barriers, destroying the walls of injustice, a trailblazer through and through – that's  _me!"_

"Well, the smashing and destroying sounds about right," Barney said as he stood back up and turned to leave. "But you forgot the part about police work being a quagmire of bureaucracy and rank. Good luck, Bonkers. Just don't get your hopes up too high, all right?"

"Hmph!" Bonkers muttered, slamming the door after Barney had sauntered away. "What my dear sweet partner doesn't seem to  _realize_ is that  _real_ police work is the  _antithesis_ of a quagmire! It is a  _well maintained freeway!_ A freeway of  _justice!"_ After this outburst, Bonkers stood for a moment, looking at the door. "Right?" he asked weakly with an uncertain shrug.

"Don't listen to him, Bonkers," Marilyn said encouragingly from behind him. "The fact that you were the first toon cop in history has to count for something, doesn't it? The Toon Division is full of toon officers now, and that's all thanks to you."

"Sure! They all look up to me!" he said as he sat back down on the stool, trying his best to appear upbeat. "I'm a hero, a pioneer, an iconoclast! Why, I'm – I'm – I'm…I'm still just an officer," Bonkers broke down, laying his head on the table in front of Marilyn. She patted his head kindheartedly. "Not so much as a measly promotion to detective in all the time I've been here. Surely I deserve at least that?"

"Hey, look, they need a toon who can pound the pavement, right? They need guys who aren't afraid to really get out there and get things done. All those guys – like Barney – who just sit in their offices answering phones all day aren't doing the kind of police work  _you're_ doing. They aren't out there getting their hands dirty."

"But I hate dirty hands," Bonkers protested weakly, looking at his pristine white gloves. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to get dirt out of white gloves from the fancy glove shop?"

Marilyn laughed softly. "Your time is going to come, Bonkers. And in the mean time, no matter what Grating or Barney says, you've done a lot of good for a lot of people, humans and toons alike. That's what really matters in the end. Not rank. Not pay grade. It's making this city safer for the people who live here –  _that's_ what's important."

"You're right. But when you've seen as many cops promoted over you as I have, well…" he trailed off, not looking her in the eye. "Guess how many partners I've had. Just guess."

"Mmm…seven."

"Nope."

"Ten."

"Not even close."

"Uh…surely not over twenty?"

"Thirty four," Bonkers answered with a sigh. "Thirty four partners."

Marilyn raised an eyebrow. "How is that even possible?"

He shrugged again. "Some got promoted. Some requested a different partner – though I can't for the life of me imagine why – some quit, some transferred. Your dad and Miranda were the only partners I've ever had that made me feel like I was part of a team. Like we were out there doing some real good in this city."

"And the others?" Marilyn asked as she began to ink Bonkers' arm.

His fists clenched slightly as he mimicked the voices of his past partners. "'Just stay put in the car, kid, I'll handle this'…'Let me handle this one, partner, you stay here…'What would a toon know about crimes being committed by toons?'…'Hey Bonkers, how about you stay here and  _do nothing because you're a toon,_ and I'll go out and bust the criminals  _because I'm a human and only humans are real cops – '"_ Bonkers stopped abruptly and looked over at Marilyn, who was giving him a strange look. He laughed nervously, unclenching his fists. "I might have made that last one up."

"I can see how that would get a little old. Why didn't they ever just pair you up with another toon officer?"

"Thought we'd never get the job done. Thought we'd just be goofy all day. And as much as I love Goofy, there are certain things that are just more important. But not after today.  _Today_ Bonkers D. Bobcat enters the ranks of the law enforcement elite, to claim his due! To show the world what toon cops are  _really capable of!"_ he proclaimed heroically, once again on his feet. Marilyn clamped her hand over his shoulders and shoved him back down onto the stool.

"Not until you're looking your best, officer," she said with a warm smile as she got back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

The Toon Division was, it hardly need be said, an amalgamation of three principle ingredients: chaos, cacophony and coffee. When the Toon Division had started in a tiny corner of the Hollywood offices of the LAPD, toons – suspects, criminals, or merely those lodging complaints against the first two – were all brought to the same place until the booking process began. Whereas other departments enjoyed separate areas for each of the top brass, the officers, and the suspects, the Toon Division did all of their business on one floor, meaning that at any one time there were approximately three million things going on in the same space at the same time. The officers had gotten used to it, and those who hadn't ever worked anywhere other than the Toon Division never knew any other way. In such a situation, it seemed perfectly reasonable that a toon suspected of, say, jewelry theft sat three feet away from another toon dripping in diamonds who had stopped in to lodge an unrelated complaint. That was normally where the cacophony came in; a scene would erupt, and then coffee – the great equalizer – would be given as a peace offering.

Needless to say, the third principle ingredient – chaos – was normal. Fortunately, chaos was often the default setting for toons, and no offense was ever taken.

Bonkers bounced along happily through the small aisles of the department, flanked by cubicles and the whirring of computers, printers, and the melodramatic sounds coming from a mix tape a heartbroken, newly-single young officer had deigned appropriate for workplace listening. None of that mattered, however; whistling a happy tune, Bonkers made his way to Grating's office and entered unceremoniously, plopping down in one of the tattered chairs in front of the desk, putting his feet up and stretching.

"Sure is a  _beautiful_ day, isn't it Cap?" Bonkers sighed to Grating, now Captain, who said scowling behind his desk.

"I haven't worked in an office with a window since 1978," he answered gruffly. "So how would I know? And get your feet off my desk."

"Sure thing, Cap." Bonkers put his chin on his hands, leaning on Grating's desk. "Oh, the birds are singing, the breeze is whispering through the leaves, even the carjackers on the corner seemed to be in a festive mood when they hauled that little old lady out of her car and politely told her to 'Get the hell out, ma'am.' I tell ya, Cap, such days are one in a million!"

Barney burst through the door, looking slightly sweatier and more unkempt than usual, if such a thing was possible. "Sorry I'm late, Captain – there was a line at Happy Burrito and they didn't want to take my two-for-one coupon, and I – "

"It's fine, Klyser. Sit down, both of you." Grating ruffled some papers on his desk, clearing his voice in a self-important manner. "You're both here because you're being considered for the head of the Toon Division, a position that carries with it the rank of lieutenant. It would be a big promotion for either of you. You're both…how should I put it… _unique_ officers who know this department like the back of your hand – "

"Even  _better_ than that!" Bonkers interrupted. "I can even tell you where the cleaning lady keeps her secret stash of scotch – "

" _Enough_ , Bobcat. Now, these decisions are never easy. Bobcat, you've been here for over fifteen years and have been… _diligent_ in your duties which mostly seem to include irritating me and accidentally freeing convicted criminals because you left the cells unlocked – "

"Thanks, Cap. That means a lot," Bonkers said, wiping a tear from his eye.

" – and Klyser, you've been relentless in your pursuit of…well, not criminals, but…but good deals on burritos for the whole department, and dammit, that has to count for something, doesn't it?"

"Sure, let's go with that," Barney countered with a shrug.

"Therefore, I want to congratulate – "

"Oh  _thanks_ Captain Grating!" Bonkers cried, launching himself across the desk and wrapping himself around Grating's head in a bearhug. "You won't regret it! I'll be the  _best_ department head in the  _history_ of department heads, if anyone's keeping track of that! Have they? Is there a  _History of Department Heads Through the Ages_ down in the library, Cap?"

"Get  _off_ me, Bobcat!" Grating bellowed, shoving Bonkers back down into the chair across from him. "You didn't let me finish! I'm promoting  _Klyser,_ not you!"

"Wh-What?" Bonkers stammered, tears beginning to brim in his eyes. "You-You mean I didn't get it? I'm…I'm still just an officer?"

"That's right!" Grating roared across the desk. He let out a slow breath and turned to Klyser. "Congratulations Klyser, you start immediately. Get your things from the basement and bring them up here. You've got a helluva road ahead of you."

...

* * *

...

Fifteen minutes later and slightly more resigned to his fate, Bonkers watched Barney pack up his things in the office with a dreary expression, feeling as though he might melt into a puddle of anthropomorphized anguish at any moment.

"Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a cop," Bonkers sighed slowly, his cheek cradled in his palm as he rolled a pencil across his desk absent-mindedly. "Maybe there's something else  _out there – "_ here he gestured vaguely to a world outside of the station, " – that I'm  _meant_ to be doing instead!"

"We all got find a niche somewhere," Barney replied in a disinterested tone as he set an empty box on top of his desk and began throwing his office supplies into it. "And hey, knowing what you're  _not_ good at is half the battle, right?"

"But I always thought that  _this_ is where I belonged!" Bonkers declared, hopping up on his desk. "Here, where all the action is!"

Barney threw him a flat look. "We're in a dark, dingy  _basement_ full of spiders and leaky pipes. The only  _action_ around here is when the toilets above us overflow and we have to evacuate before we become mired in a swamp of raw sewage."

"But  _this_ is where all the action  _starts_! Think of it! We get the  _small_ cases that turn into  _big_ cases!"

"And the  _big_ cases go to the guys  _upstairs._ Face it Bonkers, the only people dumb enough to willingly commit a minute of their lives to the minutia that the detectives won't touch are the ones who get stuck down here for fifteen years."

"That isn't true!" Bonkers burst, leaping in the air to emphasize his point. "What about that kidnapping case last year? Little Frankie was returned safely to his family after  _we_ cracked the case!"

"Frankie was a cat, and he wasn't  _kidnapped,_ he ran away. To the neighbors. Who promptly gave him  _back_ after we saw Frankie lying under their porch." He tossed a stapler into the box and shook his head. "Face it, kid, big cases never go to toons, because  _toons can't –_ " He stopped here, sighing softly and rubbing his eyes with his thumb. "Maybe – Maybe you oughta do something that requires a little more creativity, you know? Some outlet for all that pent up energy – or whatever it is – that you got, huh?"

"That's it!" Bonkers cried, sitting back down behind his desk and whipping out a notebook and a pencil. "I'll be a world-weary writer, one whose cynicism is only outweighed by his arrogant ramblings and cognitive dissonance!"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's the ticket," Barney mumbled in what he hoped was a sincere voice as he emptied his pencil drawer into the box.

" _It was 1:23 in the afternoon when I noticed the ring in my coffee mug had turned moldy,"_ Bonkers rattled off, scribbling in his notebook frantically. _"My partner Barney apathetically threw a box of paperclips into a brown cardboard box in a way that suggested he was weary of the pretenses of Western civilization – "_

"Hey, keep me out of it!"

" –  _whilst I, in the throes of existential angst, pondered capriciously on the fact that although I could order a la carte off of any restaurant menu in the continental United States, I could not do the same for my cable channels – "_

"Bonkers."

" –  _and suddenly it occurred to me: Why_ _does_ _Christmas effectively start in mid-October for most major retailers?"_

"Bonkers!"

"What?" Bonkers answered with a start, looking up to see Barney standing in the doorway with the box in his hands.

"I'm leaving now. I'll be upstairs, if you ever need me, which you  _won't,_ because a trained aardvark could do this job. And it's only fair to tell you that that last sentence of yours makes  _no_ sense."

"It's not supposed to. I'm an  _artist,"_  Bonkers proclaimed, arms crossed. "And I'll have you know that some of my closest friends are trained aardvarks. They make  _excellent_ excavators."

Barney rolled his eyes. "See ya around, kid," he said flatly, turning to leave.

"Wait! Let me help you carry that!" Bonkers jumped up, caught a toe on a rogue seam in the stained carpet of the office, and tripped headlong into a horrified-looking Barney. With a crash, the box tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents and ripping at its seams.

Barney made an exasperated sound and ran a hand over his forehead. "I can't even  _leave_ without you  _breaking_ something!"

"No worries, partner!" Bonkers replied, ever cheerful as he scooped up some of the office supplies into his arms and made his way towards the staircase. "We're still a  _team_ , at least until we get to the top of these stairs!"

Barney picked up the rest of the supplies and jogged towards the staircase. That was about the best reason he'd ever heard to hurry.

His new office – if a cubicle which backed up to a water fountain and an ancient microwave that reeked of burned microwavable lunches could be called an office – was near enough to a row of windows that Barney felt he'd inherited the office equivalent of prime real estate and he inhaled deeply, as though he were in the great outdoors, and smiled as he threw himself into his new chair. He stretched and put his hands behind his head. "Lieutenant Klyser," he muttered with a self-satisfied chuckle. " _Lieutenant_ Klyser! Head of the department!"

Bonkers hopped up on his desk, scrutinizing the surroundings as Barney scowled upon realizing that the little orange devil now knew where his desk was. "Not bad, not bad," Bonkers acquiesced, hand on his chin. "That vent is a little noisy, and the cubicle next to you smells like someone threw up in it, and I can hear the toilet flush, and it certainly isn't as nice as the _basement_ , but all in all, not too shabby. And now that you've worked  _one-on-one_ with the resident  _veteran_ of the toon division, maybe you'll throw him a few big cases, huh?" Bonkers whispered as he elbowed Barney gently in the ribs.

"Not. A. Chance," Barney stated calmly, looking Bonkers straight in the eye.

Bonkers' face fell as he sputtered, "Bu-But we were  _partners."_

" _Exactly._ You're a walking disaster!" Barney began putting his office supplies away in his new desk. "Bonkers, you're a nice guy and all, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I hand you anything bigger than a stolen bike case. Look, it's – it's not  _you,_ per se, it's – well, you're a  _toon,_ and toons just can't handle complex police work. You toons weren't really made for it, you know?"

"I wasn't really made to sing falsetto either, but I  _do_ it!" Bonkers protested. He began to pace. "Barney, did you consider that half of the toon division is  _made up of toons?"_

"Yeah, well, not for long," Barney muttered, taking out some files and placing them on his desk.

Bonkers' ink ran cold and he shoved his hat down over his ears. "I didn't hear that, I didn't hear that!"

" _Bonkers._ Look, toons are useful for some things. Just not the big cases, all right? Don't take it so hard," Barney urged with a sigh.

"You want to get rid of all of the toon officers, get rid of everything I've worked  _fifteen years_ for, and you're telling me not to  _take it so hard?"_ Bonkers cried, throwing his hands up. This exchange was suddenly punctuated with the ding of a microwave. Bonkers' face instantly brightened. "Ooo, my burrito is done!" he crowed happily, jumping over Barney's cubicle wall.

"Typical. That's  _exactly_ what I mean," Barney said, furrowing his brow as Bonkers almost instantly returned, an acidic-smelling burrito cupped in his fist. "Toons are too…too…"

"Cool?"

"No – "

"Fabulous?"

" _No,_ too  _erratic._ You can't trust 'em, can't count on 'em to do anything  _important_."

"Nothing important, hm? Wouldn't you concede that one of the  _hallmarks_ of a good officer is razor sharp observational skills? Picking up on small details overlooked by others that could potentially change the direction of an entire investigation?"

"Well…I suppose…" Barney mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

"And what if I told you that I'd just  _observed_ something important, something out of  _place_ in our department?"

Barney took a quick glance around him and scowled. "Like what?"

Bonkers bounced over to the windows, pulled up the blinds with a loud  _fwap_ and pointed to a black sedan sitting trunk-first in one of the visitors' parking spots visible from the window. _"_ Observe!  _That_ car is obviously out of place!"

"We get members of the public coming in here almost every day _._ What's your point?" Barney said with an irritated shrug, pulling his coffee mug out of the box and rising to his feet.

"That's no civilian vehicle.  _That's_ an unmarked government vehicle!" Bonkers pressed his nose against the glass, frowning in concentration. His curiosity finally piqued, Barney ambled over and took his place next to Bonkers. "Standard Crown Victoria model, black, no customizations. No dealer's name on the back of the car, painted black wheels, a small CB radio antenna attached to the back windshield, and – a dead giveaway – dual exhaust pipes! And why's that odd? Because  _that_  isn't one of  _our_ station's cars. Something's  _up,_ Barney."

Barney worked his jaw; he hated it when Bonkers was right. "We get visiting detectives in this department all the time. You think toons never commit crimes in other states? Probably just came to haul some loony away for a trial." He shrugged a bit smugly. "See? Easily explained. By a  _human,_ no less."

" _That's_ where you're wrong, partner," Bonkers retorted as he absently picked up a rather risqué picture of Barney's rotund wife from the box, holding it at arm's length and staring at it quizzically. "Toon officers are every bit as capable as the human officers. Who better to understand  _crimes committed by toons_ than  _toons?"_

"Yeah, well, if it were up to me, I'd lock you  _all_ up," Barney spat roughly, grabbing the picture away from Bonkers and shoving it in the bottom drawer of his desk. "And keep your paws off my stuff. Isn't there a squad car you could be washing?"

"Just give me a shot, Barney! Just one big case!" Bonkers leaned in close to Barney, a pleading look in his eye. "I'll  _prove_ to you that toon cops are just as good as human ones!"

"Absolutely not. Show me a man who hands you a big case, and I'll show you the biggest buffoon who ever walked the earth," Barney countered through bared teeth in a low, steely tone.

"Bobcat!" a gravelly voice barked behind them. With a surprised yelp, Bonkers turned to find Captain Grating looming over him, his face practically set in stone. "My office. Pronto."

"Even Captains make mistakes," Bonkers whispered with a small laugh, again elbowing Barney gently in the ribs. "Sorry Barney, but it makes no  _sense_ you being lieutenant. I bet Cap's going to tell me there was a mix-up and – "

" _Bobcat!_ Are you coming or do I have to put you in irons? Because believe me, I'd love an excuse," Grating called, having gotten halfway down the hallway before he realized Bonkers was not following. Bonkers immediately rectified this by bounding next to him as they walked.

"Don't take it so hard, Cap. We  _all_ make mistakes," he said sympathetically, patting Grating on the sleeve. "Why, just last week I accidentally left the cells unlocked, and – "

"Just shut up, will you?" Grating growled, stopping at his door and beginning to open it. "I want you to know, with  _every fiber of your being,_ that I am  _absolutely_ set against this, and – "

Bonkers peeped in through the small opening between the door and the wall, and caught sight of what could only be described as a sight for a much-put-upon toon's sore eyes.

" _LUCKY!"_


	3. Chapter 3

" _LUCKY!"_ Bonkers cried upon catching sight of his old partner inside of Grating's office, Grating himself having been forgotten. Bonkers immediately jumped in Lucky's arms and began showering him with effusive kisses on the forehead.

"Bonkers! I – it's good to – "

"Oh I missed ya, partner – "

" – listen, could you stop – "

"Didja get all my letters? Postcards? Emails? Carrier pigeons?" Bonkers adoringly clasped Lucky's head firmly in his grasp. "Oh I  _know_ how busy ya musta been – "

"Yeah, look, sorry about that – "

" – but two partners can  _never_ be torn apart! Not by distance! Or decades! Or the fickle nature of avian messengers!" Bonkers continued to rant, now patting Lucky's head frantically. Lucky gripped Bonkers' by the back of his uniform and pried him off, setting him gently on the floor.

"It's good to see you again too, Bonkers," Lucky said with a hint of affection in his voice, ruffling the fur on Bonkers' head. "Your…eh, unique brand of enthusiasm hasn't changed a bit."

Bonkers cut him off, hopping from foot to foot excitedly. "So what's up,  _Special Agent_ Lucky? Busting up organized crime? International espionage? Let me guess – you have  _definitive proof_ that the governor is an  _extra-terrestrial?_ I  _knew_ it!"

"Special Agent Piquel was sent to investigate a case of a  _very sensitive nature,_ " Grating said, easing down into his chair. Bonkers watched him carefully and tsked.

"An epidemic of hemorrhoids, I see. No doubt of extra-terrestrial origin, thanks to our Governor. Don't worry, Captain Grating, they sell this cream down at the pharmacy – "

"Not like  _that!"_ Grating burst. He crossed his arms across his chest with a hint of a pout. "And I  _know_ they sell that cream, but dammit, it just doesn't  _work_ on my sensitive skin – "

Lucky cleared his throat loudly, sensing the conversation steering in a direction that was perhaps too much information. "Sit down, Bonkers. I guess this concerns you too, in a way."

Bonkers sat obediently, beaming up admiringly at his old partner. Lucky cleared his throat again and clasped his hands behind his back, hoping he imparted some of that 'important-FBI-agent' aura he'd tried so hard to cultivate over the years.

"I'll cut right to the chase. About two weeks ago, Toontown's registrar found some discrepancies in the city's accounting. When she investigated further, she found that Toontown is essentially broke – its coffers are more or less  _empty,_ and have been for months. Apparently Toontown has been paying its workers on loans from the banks – loans which were never repaid. It's fraud on a massive scale."

"Oh, it's all true! I filed as head of household when Toots is  _clearly_ the more responsible one!" Bonkers exploded, wringing his hands. "He even picks up my dry cleaning!"

"Bonkers, this has nothing to do with  _your_ tax returns!" Lucky shouted, suddenly remembering  _why_ he'd taken a job thousands of miles away from Bonkers. "The tax money is coming  _in,_ and the bank loans are coming  _in,_ but the money – no one knows where the money  _is!_ Made all the more complicated for the fact that the only one in Toontown to really know exactly what's going on – the mayor – has been missing for the past week. The FBI was brought in to not only investigate the  _fraud_ but also to find a missing person – Mayor Gimblebee  _himself_."

Bonkers immediately began shaking Lucky's hand so hard he felt it might come off. "Good luck to you Lucky! Of  _course_ you'll find him – luck is in your name!"

"Well, that's not all Bonkers. Here, sit down. Look…I need a partner on this case – a  _temporary_ partner – one who knows Toontown inside and out. So, I was thinking…eh…"

"Yessss?" Bonkers asked, leaning expectantly forward in his seat.

Lucky sighed. "Bonkers, I can't believe I'd ever say it, but…you're the only one who can help me." He looked thoughtful. "Literally the only one. Like  _no one else_ wanted to touch this case with a ten foot pole, I even asked the parking attendant – "

"It'll be just like the  _old_ days!" Bonkers cried, once again latching onto Lucky's head. "Oh sure, partner, anything for you! This is  _just_ what I need, a  _big case!_ "

"I don't see why the FBI is wasting its resources on this," Grating grumped. "I bet you my next paycheck he's already gallivanted off across the globe somewhere with Toontown's money. Why Toontown ever thought a toon mayor would be a good idea is  _beyond_ me. All you  _really_ need to do is alert border patrols in nearby countries to keep a sharp lookout for the guy, and you'll have him –  _and_ the money – back in a few days."

"Sure," Lucky said slowly, rolling his eyes. "Except we've  _done_ that for a week, with  _no_ leads at all." His expression turned darker as his brow furrowed. "No, I think this guy is still in the country – maybe even still in Toontown – and he's hiding out, waiting for something…but waiting for what, I don't know. That's what worries me." He began to pace. "It isn't an inconsequential amount of money, Grating. Throwing that sort of money around on luxuries would get him noticed pretty quick." He turned to Bonkers. "That's why I need a toon on this with me, Bonkers. I need a toon who knows everyone, who knows what's going on in Toontown, who can predict what a toon might do next."

"I know exactly what a toon would do next," Bonkers said somberly, rising to his feet.

"What's that?" Lucky asked hopefully.

Bonkers took a deep breath, somewhat dramatically. "A  _toon…_ would get some  _lunch."_

_...  
_

* * *

_...  
_

"I have to say, my confidence in your detecting skills hasn't improved much over the last half hour," Lucky declared, swirling his straw around in his drink as he and Bonkers said in a sticky booth at a local hot dog restaurant in Toontown, surrounded by other toons scarfing down Big Louie's famous hot dogs like they were the last meat by-products on earth. "Why would Gimblebee come  _here?"_

"Who said anything about Gimblebee coming here? I just like Big Louie's, and I was hungry," Bonkers explained. "Fall Apart Rabbit works here, and he always gives me extra relish on my hot dogs."

"Great," Lucky muttered. "So while we sit here having lunch, Gimblebee's out there somewhere evading capture!"

"You really shouldn't get so down on toons, Lucky," Bonkers said sagely as he took a big gulp of the milkshake in front of him, smearing some on his upper lip. "If I hadn't decided  _not_ be a writer twenty minutes ago, I might have an eloquent argument in defense of toons to give you."

Lucky grimaced sourly. "Any advice on how  _not_ to think of toons as a bunch of lunatics running amok would be helpful."

"Hey, you're right!" Bonkers' face brightened. "Advice! Isn't that what everyone  _needs?_ That's  _it!_ I'll be an advice columnist! An agony aunt! A lone voice of reason in a swampish morass of heated emotion!"

Lucky leaned back into his seat with a tense look; Bonkers was a lot of things, but a lone voice of reason had  _never_ been one of them. Meanwhile, Bonkers had already inserted himself into the conversation going in at the table next to them, where a female toon sat weeping while an irritated-looking male toon handed her napkins to dry her face.

" _Excuse_ me, but I'm an aspiring advice columnist, and I couldn't help but notice your lady friend looking a little worse for the wear," Bonkers whispered to the male toon. "It just so happens I happen to be an  _expert_ in matters of love." He pursed his lips, deep in thought for a moment. "I think I'll adopt the pen name 'Love Guru' for my advice column. What do you think? Too pretentious?"

"Can't you see we're trying to have a private conversation here?" the toon hissed at him. "You can't just butt in – "

"But the tears of a forlorn lover are like a  _magnet_ to the Love Guru!" Bonkers protested, turning his attention to the female toon. "What's the matter? Did he break yer heart? Make you cry? Things just ain't the same since he said goodbye?"

The male toon stood up in the booth and hauled Bonkers up to his eye level, with an expression that could melt steel if he'd deemed in necessary. "I said it's  _none of your business!"_ he roared.

Bonkers tsked, unperturbed by the fact that his feet were no longer touching the ground, and shook his head disapprovingly. "It seems to me that your conflict resolution skills are in need of some fine tuning, my friend."

While that may very well have been the case, five seconds later saw Bonkers with a rather nasty bruise forming around his eye and the realization that a job as an advice columnist might very well not be for him. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he mumbled, clutching his head as the toons behind him made a swift exit.

Lucky chuckled. "An  _expert_ in matters of love, eh?"

"Oh yeah," Bonkers said debonairly, settling back into the seat and throwing his arm across the back. "It isn't all hand-holding and anvils on the head, Lucky ol' boy.  _If_ you catch my drift."

Lucky chuckled again a little uneasily, trying to read the look on Bonkers' face. He ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Oh. Uh. I always thought – I didn't think toons  _did_ stuff like that, you know?"

"Oh all the time!" Bonkers cried enthusiastically. "You remember Fawn Deer, dontcha?"

"Yeah, but – but really, I don't need to know – "

"Well!" Bonkers leaned in with a conspiratorial air, whispering as though he was imparting some sacred secret, "I  _kissed_ her." He leaned back again, self-satisfied.  _"Twice."_

Lucky exhaled in relief and threw him an annoyed look. "Tell me about this Gimblebee guy, and for cripes sake,  _focus."_

"Focus! Right!" Bonkers rubbed his chin for a moment, face scrunched in concentration, and then scratched his head with a shrug. "I got nothin'."

Lucky looked incredulous. "Whaddya mean, 'you got nothin''? He's the mayor in the city you  _live_ in, right? You must know  _something_ about the guy!"

" _I_ voted for Mickey," Bonkers said pointedly, taking a dainty sip of his milkshake.

Lucky gritted his teeth. "Have there been any  _scandals –_ scandals that were weird enough for even  _Toontown_ to take notice?"

"Now that you mention it…" Bonkers paused, then shrugged again. "Nope. Nothing."

"Well, glad to know Toontown takes such an  _interest_ in civics," Lucky muttered. "Great. So we've got no leads,  _nothing_ to go on!"

"Tut tut, partner dear.  _Nil desperandum_. Policework can't run on an empty stomach and leads always come from the  _unlikeliest_ of places." Bonkers' grinned just as Fall Apart Rabbit placed two enormous hot dogs, slathered in relish, in front of him and immediately began to drool. "Looks great, Fall Apart!"

"Lucky!" Fall Apart cried happily upon catching sight of an irritated Lucky Piquel. "Have you come to prove the governor is an alien?"

Lucky scoffed. "What is it with you guys? You think the FBI has nothing better to do than chase down aliens?"

"Granted, it  _is_ a pretty important part of what you guys do – "

"Bonkers, we don't – "

"But Fall Apart, something's  _up_ in Toontown," Bonkers whispered to his old friend, who immediately looked awe-struck. "Something that  _may_ have something to do with al – "

"Leave  _aliens_ out of it!"

" _Fine._ That  _may or may not_ have anything to do with aliens. Mayor Gimblebee is  _missing._ You haven't heard anything, have you?"

"So now we're chasing down leads by asking a guy who works in a  _hot dog_ joint?" Lucky shouted, nearly apoplectic. "Why the hell would he know  _anything – "_

"Welllll," Fall Apart interrupted, "A few months ago I  _did_ see Gimblebee auditioning at Sugarfoot Studios."

Bonkers frowned. "Why would the mayor be auditioning for  _cartoons?"_

" _Exactly._ If that happened,  _everyone_ would know about it. Come on, Bonkers, we're wasting our time – " Lucky said, rising from his seat to leave.

"Hold your horses, Mr. Impatient Patty," Bonkers broke in. He turned back to Fall Apart. "You  _saw_ it, with your  _own_ eyes?"

"I  _think_ they were my own…but I misplace them so often," Fall Apart said as his eyeballs popped out, which he immediately put back in. "Occupational hazards being what they are, I mean. I was working as a prop assistant at Sugarfoot Studios at the time, until I accidentally left the tiger cages open one night and they mauled the 3rd assistant director – "

"Ho boy, I know  _allllll_ about that," Bonkers chimed in sympathetically.

"My God! Was he all right?" Lucky interjected.

Fall Apart shrugged. "Who can say whether it was a tiger or a 3 week old kitten? Anyway, I was on the soundstage late one night a few months ago, when I hear someone doing a monologue in a loud voice. Did you guys know soylent green is  _people?_ This guy seemed pretty sure of it. I peeked around the set and saw Gimblebee on stage with none other than Sugarfoot and Ott, that assistant of his, standing there listening. Afterwards they got in a  _big_ argument – "

"About what?" Lucky interrupted feverishly.

"I dunno. Something about  _it was a deal,_ and  _you can't go back on a deal,_ and  _I'll break you for this,_ and  _where are we having dinner because I hate sushi,_ and – "

"Wait, wait. Sugarfoot was arguing with Gimblebee?"

"Well, until he got to the part about the sushi,  _that_ was with Ott, which is  _odd,_ because they're both cats – "

"Fall Apart, focus!"

"Right! Gimblebee kept saying that  _it was a deal,_ and Sugarfoot was real mad, and if you've ever seen Sugarfoot mad, well it's – " Fall Apart shivered. "It's  _bad,_ whatever it is. Gimblebee left pretty quick, and I ain't heard nothin' since then." His eyes widened. "You're not going to take me in, are you? Lucky, I  _swear_ I ain't an alien informant – "

"Fall Apart, you just gave us our first lead!" Bonkers crowed happily, patting him on the shoulder. "And it's all thanks to you and your inability to hold steady employment!"

"Gee, never thought I'd be recognized for such a thing," Fall Apart said dreamily as he curled his Big Louie's hat in his hand bashfully. "Think I should make a speech?"

"Later, old buddy," Bonkers said as he threw a few dollars down on the table and began to follow Lucky, who had already raced to the car outside and was waiting. "If you think of anything else, call Toots, because I can  _never_ remember to check my voicemail. Just last week I was called to judge the annual Beauty Pageant for Forgetful Toons, and I forgot to – "

"Bonkers, are you  _coming?"_ Lucky bellowed out the window of the car. Bonkers threw Fall Apart a last sheepish grin and slipped into the car through the window, clapping his hands excitedly. "Oh boy, out with Lucky on a  _case!_ It really  _is_ like old times!"

Lucky sighed and put the car back in park, giving Bonkers a hesitant expression. "Yeah, look, about that – Bonkers, this is  _important._ More important than most of the cases you and I ever worked on. So we've got to cut out the wacky toon stuff, all right?"

Bonkers looked confused. "But I  _am_ a wacky toon."

"Yeah, I know." Lucky ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I have to admit something to you. I – I didn't want this case. I didn't want to come back to Toontown. But since I was the only one in the department with any  _experience_ working with toons in Toontown, it was assigned to me. Did you ever stop to think about  _why_ it was handed over to the FBI?"

"Because the FBI is a federal bureau created specifically to investigate and prosecute fraud?"

"No, it's – "

"Because the FBI is often called in when an elected official is suspected of perpetuating fraud and related crimes, because the local police department is seen as being  _too close_ to the case in question, and thus a federal bureau acts as an impartial party?"

"Well, yeah, but – "

"Is it because you  _missed me?"_ Bonkers said, batting his eyes.

Lucky snorted. "No, listen. It's because the Toon Division doesn't have a very good track record. You guys are mostly seen as incompetent ninnies incapable of solving even the most _benign_  cases. The LAPD called us in because – because they don't think you guys were  _good_ enough to get the job done."

Bonkers seemed to deflate somehow. "Well! The FBI will  _certainly_ get a strongly-worded comment through their website from  _me."_ He shook his head. "Aw Lucky, it  _isn't_ because of the toon officers. Honest it isn't. The  _best_ officers in the Toon Division  _are_ toons, but the big guys never give us a chance! Guys in charge – guys like  _Barney –_ don't think we're worth our weight in ink and don't want us doing  _anything_ on a case!"

Lucky sighed again, touching his hand to his chin. "Well, be that as it may, I'm here now whether I like it or not, and so are you." He grinned. "Let's show guys like Barney what we're capable of, eh?"

Bonkers' face lit up instantly and he grinned back. "Righto, partner! Next stop, Sugarfoot Studios!"


	4. Chapter 4

The imposing façade of Sugarfoot Studios towered above Bonkers and Lucky as they stood outside of it a few minutes later, after having been denied entrance to park in the lot itself when Bonkers mistook the diminutive guard – a short toon turtle with an overbite – for a decorative parking pass dispenser and punched the turtle's nose in the expectation that a ticket would pop out. The black Crown Victoria was therefore parked quasi-legally two streets over and they both held out hope that the broken parking meter standing in front of it might be pitiful enough for a traffic cop's mercy. Lucky scratched his head. "Sugarfoot Studios. Geez, I never even  _heard_ of this place back when I worked in Toontown. When did  _this_ monstrosity get built?"

Bonkers shivered slightly; there was something about the dark stone of the entrance gate that always gave him the chills. "That's because it's only been here for a few years. Sugarfoot got his start as an extra on the  _Woody Woodpecker Show_ back when he was just a kid. I knew him back when  _I_ worked in cartoons, and the guy always gave me the creeps."

Lucky threw him a skeptical look as they approached the guarded gate. "Really? How could you possibly be scared of a guy named  _Sugarfoot?_ Sounds like the name of a Valentine candy with frilly trim made of buttercream frosting and one of those irritating catchphrases that don't make any sense, like  _'Awesomesauce'_ or  _'Love Means Putting the Seat Down When You're Finished.'"_

"You don't understand," Bonkers said quietly, shaking his head. "Sugarfoot was  _ruthless._ He's one of those toons who didn't care  _who_ he stepped on to get to the top, and never made any secret about wanting his own studio someday – because  _then,_ he couldn't get fired and thrown off the set like he always did back when  _he_ was in cartoons!"

"Not that I'm anything of a toon connoisseur, of course," Lucky said as they both flashed their badges at the gate – the turtle gave them a look that could kill but waved them through – and began the trek towards the administration building. "But if Sugarfoot was famous enough to get his own studio, then he must have been some sort of a star, right? And I've never  _heard_ of him."

"Not exactly a star. More  _infamous_ than famous," Bonkers explained. "He specialized in  _violent_ cartoons, more violent than any of those old Loony Tunes cartoons with anvils or mallets, or with Daffy Duck shooting a Nazi in the face, incinerating him and then cackling with an unsettling amount of glee. Problem was, Sugarfoot was sort of like that  _off_ stage too, and…well, no director wants to deal with a violent star, do they?"

"So how did he even  _get_ a studio?" Lucky asked, still confused.

"Not sure," Bonkers answered, scratching his head. "But there were always a lot of rumors of  _blackmail._ There are some toons who have a lot of skeletons in their closets, Lucky, and they're rich enough to keep them out of the press! _"_

"Hm. You don't suppose Sugarfoot blackmailed the mayor to get this studio up and running and  _that's_ where Toontown's money went?"

Bonkers shook his head again. "No way! Sugarfoot Studios opened  _long_ before Gimblebee was in office, and this studio can certainly support itself  _just fine_ now." He shrugged. "Violence sells. Who knew?"

"Let's get this over with. It would be like Christmas come early if we can get this case wrapped up before the weekend," Lucky said with a small chuckle, throwing open the door to the administration building.

"Say, you ever notice how joyous occasions are always compared to Christmas?" Bonkers mused as they both entered the building. "When someone commits a random act of kindness  _it's like Christmas,_ when Barney gives me his two-for-one burrito coupon,  _it's like Christmas…_ " He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "That's it," he whispered in an awe-struck voice.

"What?" Lucky frowned. "What, did you think of something? A clue? A connection we hadn't considered?"

"Everything is perfectly clear," Bonkers said in a steady, zen-like tone. "I can't believe I never thought of it before."

"Really? That's  _great work,_ Bonkers! I  _knew_ you'd think of something!"

Bonkers' eyes began to tear up as a proud, trembling smile spread across his face. "I suddenly know what I was drawn on this Earth to do!" He made a sweeping, dramatic motion with his hand.  _"I,_ Bonkers D. Bobcat, am and was always destined to be…a  _seasonal holiday character."_

Lucky's grin fell from his face so fast that one could almost hear it clatter to the floor.  _"What?!"_

"You know! Seasonal holiday characters! Easter Bunny! Santa Claus!" Bonkers got a moony look in his eye and clasped his hands together excitedly. "I just  _know_ I'd make a  _perfect_ spring nymph!"

"Bonkers, we do  _not_ have time for your – your – whatever this little phase is that you're going through, all right?" He put a hand on Bonkers' shoulder. "We're about to see a  _studio head_ and just for once, I'd like to  _give the impression_ that my partner isn't a  _raving lunatic!"_

The bobcat was lost in a daydream that, more likely than not, contained visions of sugar plums dancing in his head, so with a reluctant sigh, Lucky sauntered up to the front desk of the administration office and tried to appear more like a competent law enforcement officer and less like a homicidal maniac who was three seconds away from punting his partner clear into the next county.

"Uh – hello," Lucky stammered by way of introduction to the receptionist behind the desk: a gum-popping twenty-something with an apathetic expression and too much eyeliner. Her nametag read  _Deb._ "Hello – uh, Deb. I'm special agent Lucky Piquel with the FBI. I need to see Sugarfoot immediately.  _The_ Sugarfoot."

"Mistah Sugarfoot's not here," Deb said in an automatic tone of voice, which told Lucky that this was a stock answer she always had in her arsenal.

He leaned across the desk in what he hoped was a slightly threatening manner as he pointed to his badge. "I don't think you heard me, young lady. I'm with the FBI. You know, the  _Federal Bureau of Investigation."_

"Mistah Sugarfoot's not here," Deb repeated, not looking up from the magazine she was flipping through on her desk.

Lucky forced a chuckle and brushed his nails against his chest. "Look kid, you don't want to make any trouble for your boss, right? Call up Sugarfoot and tell him a  _special agent_ from the _FBI_ is here to speak with him. You don't want to impede an officer in the course of his duties. That's a crime."

"He ain't here, whaddya want me to do about it, eh?" Deb drawled, finally looking up with an annoyed look as she slammed the magazine down on the desk. "You think I can just  _conjure_ Mistah Sugarfoot up? Like just wave a magic wand and he's here, eh? Whatsamatta with you, anyway? You  _threatenin'_ me?  _Impedin' an officer of the –_ look, Mistah Pickle, I ain't here to make your life hard, all I'm sayin' is,  _Mistah Sugarfoot ain't here."_ She finally caught sight of Bonkers standing several steps behind Lucky. "Hey you. You, orange housecat with a funny hat. Who're you? Whaddya want?"

By this time, Bonkers' eyes were enormous and dreamy, full of either the magic of Christmas or a fairly severe stigmatism. "I'm the candy in your stocking! The warm fuzzy feeling you get from watching carolers! The festive headache you get when Aunt Claire puts too much Bacardi in the eggnog!"

"Oh, thank  _gawd!"_ Deb cried. She grabbed a plastic badge and marched over to Bonkers, shoving the badge at him impatiently. "Look, they've been waiting for you on set for, like, a half hour. You better get ya buns over there or Claude'll roast  _your_ chestnuts over an open fire, awright? Go!"

Before they knew it, both Lucky and Bonkers had been shooed out of the office. Bonkers began a strident walk towards the soundstage indicated on his badge when he was scooped up by Lucky and brought face to face with him. "And just  _where_ do you think you're going?" Lucky demanded.

Bonkers displayed his studio badge proudly. "To the set of  _Santa in Paradise._ Sounds jolly, doesn't it?"

"It  _sounds_ like you're forgetting that we're on a case here," Lucky said through gritted teeth.

"Haven't you ever…dreamed a dream, Lucky?" Bonkers breathed melodramatically, clutching the badge to his chest. "I know you're not so heartless as to tell your own  _partner_ not to follow his  _heart._ Because that's  _not_ the kind of guy you are. You're passionate and find joy in the hearts of those following their _destinies,_ and – "

"Bonkers." Lucky's gaze turned icy. "The only thing I'm  _passionate_ about is solving this case and getting back to DC. Got it?"

Bonkers nodded fervently with a maniacal grin and somewhat reluctantly, Lucky lowered him back to the ground. As soon as he let go, Bonkers hooted, "I'm a toon following a dream, Lucky! You can't stop me! Seasons greetings!" and shot so fast towards the soundstage that fire erupted in his tracks. Lucky screamed an obscenity to the sky, deeply offending the sensibilities of a flock of pigeons who happened to be perched on a window ledge, and began to stomp towards the building that Bonkers had disappeared into.

"Typical," Lucky muttered, pushing open a door and striding inside. "Should have  _known_ better than to get roped into this, why I ever left Washington, I'll – "

" _SHHHH!"_ someone shushed at Lucky pointedly. Lucky gave an impatient huff, but stayed shushed. A backdrop of a tropical ocean suddenly unfurled from the ceiling, several very plastic looking palm trees were hurled on set and a ton of sand, courtesy of a dump truck, crashed onto the floor. In less than three seconds, a beach scene – albeit an unconvincing and cheap looking one – was created. Somewhere, a deep voice shouted,  _"Action!"_ and Lucky's jaw dropped as Bonkers, decked out in an oversized Santa suit, flip flops and clutching a ukulele, was lowered totteringly from above in a cardboard sleigh fronted by rickety plastic reindeer.

Bonkers began hammering – Lucky refused to call it strumming – on the ukulele and proceeded to caterwaul:

" _Let's get away from sleigh bells, let's get away from snow_

_Let's make a break some Christmas, dear, I know the place to go_

_How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?"_

"Bonkers!" Lucky hissed, hoping his partner would hear him and return to his senses. Alas, Bonkers had found his muse and was fully in character as a very ardent (if badly dressed) Santa Claus on a beach. One of the plastic reindeer came untethered from its harness and hung precariously by one antler from the reins.

" _How'd ya like to spend the holiday away across the sea?_

_How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?_

_How'd ya like to hang a stocking on a great big coconut tree?"_

Bonkers continued to make sounds with the ukulele (sounds which could not be said to resemble anything close to music) as he leapt from the sleigh and splashed onto the sand with a flourish, beginning a frantic dance born either of hot sand or zero talent for dance – perhaps both.

" _How'd ya like to stay up late like the islanders do?_

_Wait for Santa to sail in with your presents in a canoe,_

_If you ever spend Christmas on Christmas Island!"_

The plastic antler on the rogue reindeer snapped.

" _You will never stray, for everyday – "_

The plastic beast, with its beady eyes aglow with a glint that almost suggested sentience, began to fall towards the ground.

" _Your Christmas dreams come true – "_

It happened to fall directly on a standing light, causing it to spark and fizzle. Bonkers threw both arms in the air for his big finish.

" _On Christmas Island your dreams come true!"_

And with that, the entire set exploded into flames.

...

* * *

...

"I suppose if you had  _meant_ to do it, I might be saying 'Good thinking, Bonkers' right now," Lucky observed as he and a crispy-looking Bonkers sat outside of Sugarfoot's executive office waiting for Sugarfoot to invite them in. "But since you were  _entirely_ in earnest, I just have one thing to say about this  _entire_ mid-life crisis debacle – are you  _done_ yet?"

Bonkers coughed. A bit of smoke escaped. "Actually, I'd say I'm  _well_ done."

"Honestly. Everything's a joke with a toon," Lucky muttered.

"We  _are_  the physical embodiment of merriment, Lucky," Bonkers reminded him, shaking himself off and returning to his normal, orangey self.

Lucky scoffed. "And you wonder why Barney thinks toons can't do policework?  _This_ is why!"

"Aw jeez Lucky, who said I wasn't doing policework, hm?" Bonkers said, knocking the last bit of soot out of his ears. "I got us in to see Sugarfoot, didn't I? You and me are going to crack the case, just like we always do!"

"Yeah, well I wish I could be so sure," Lucky muttered to himself.

A short, tiger-striped toon cat wearing round spectacles suddenly appeared on the threshold and gave them a nervous smile. "Mr. Sugarfoot will see you now, sirs," he said in a timid voice. "Neither of you has a heart condition, do you? An aversion to loud and violent verbal outbursts? A bladder control issue? No? Excellent! Come right in!"

A moment later, Lucky eased himself down into what had to be the least comfortable chair he'd ever sat in, right in front of a large wooden desk that seemed to tower over he and Bonkers, all the while being scrutinized by an enormous black toon cat smoking a large cigar and scowling at them. "Well, Mr. Bonkers, you certainly made a first impression today," the cat noted crisply, eyeing Bonkers up and down.

"Just wait 'til you see the sequel," Bonkers offered with a nervous chuckle.

The black cat regarded him seriously for a moment, and then stood.  _"You're_  a funny guy.  _You_  make  _me –_ Sugarfoot – laugh. You make  _Sugarfoot_ laugh." He swooped down next to Bonkers and gave him an oily smile that didn't reach his eyes; the familiar creepy feeling Bonkers always felt in the presence of Sugarfoot returned, as though it had been no time at all since they'd last met, even though it had been more than a decade. Sugarfoot made a sound deep in his throat that may have been a laugh or a growl – Bonkers couldn't be sure. "I always said that there ain't nothing funnier than a toon on fire, a toon dismembered, a toon in traction, a toon smeared all over the sidewalk, a toon – well, you get the picture, right?"

Bonkers swallowed hard and sank deep into his seat, not daring to break Sugarfoot's gaze. "Loud and clear," he squeaked.

Sugarfoot stood and walked back behind his desk. "And I always think it's the  _funniest_ when the toon doesn't know it's  _coming."_

"But – gee – w-when we toons don't know it's c-coming, then it actually  _h-hurts,"_ Bonkers pointed out quietly.

Sugarfoot folded his hands gently across his lap. "Exactly," he purred.

Lucky did his best to hide his expression of disgust. While he didn't particularly  _like_ toons, he certainly didn't derive any joy from actually watching them in  _pain._

"On the up side, the video of the explosion has already gone viral, sir," the timid tiger cat offered from the corner, staring intently at his computer screen. "BelieberGurl4Evah calls it  _'da funneyest thing I ever saw, lulz.'"_

Sugarfoot gave a forced, unconvincing laugh. "That little dried up piece of vomit over there is my personal assistant, Mr. Ott. Don't pay any attention to him. I hired him because I felt sorry for him. That's why they call me Sugarfoot – because I'm so damn  _sweet natured."_

"Then what's with the 'foot' at the end?" Bonkers ventured.

"It's to  _crush_ you with after I've won you over with my endearing personality!" Sugarfoot roared, slamming a fist down on his desk and rising, his demeanor changing in an instant to one of unbridled rage. "I want you  _out_ of my studio. You'll  _never_ work here again, or anywhere  _else_ in cartoons for that matter!" he bellowed at Bonkers.

"That's ok!" Bonkers responded brightly, digging his police badge out of his pocket and proudly holding it up for Sugarfoot to see. "I already have a job!"

Sugarfoot's eyes widened. "So it's a  _sting_ operation, is it? Let me tell you something, just  _try_ to prove thatI've got unsafe working conditions from one lousy out-of-control electrical fire – "

" _Actually,_ we're here about Mayor Gimblebee's disappearance," Lucky interjected in a voice he hoped did not betray his anxiety. "We got a tip that Gimblebee auditioned for you here at the studio shortly before his disappearance."

Sugarfoot slowly seated himself again, puffing on his cigar. "That's right, he did. What of it?" he replied with a shrug, as though Lucky's question was the most ridiculous one he'd ever heard. "He auditioned, he was terrible, we sent him packing."

"Well, from our understanding, there was some sort of argument between you after the audition." Lucky studied Sugarfoot's face carefully for a reaction – there was none. Lucky leaned forward slightly. "Something about having some sort of a  _deal_  with Gimblebee. About not going back on a deal, about breaking him for this." Lucky leveled his gaze with Sugarfoot's and raised an eyebrow. "Any of that  _jog your memory_ by any chance?"

Sugarfoot didn't move for several seconds, his face as blank and expressionless as ever. Finally, he put his cigar down. "Let me guess," he began quietly. "This – this  _source_ of yours is a _toon,_ am I correct?"

"We  _never_ reveal our sources!" Bonkers piped up bravely.

"He's right, we don't, when it might put that source in danger," Lucky concurred in a steely voice. "And I don't see what difference it would make anyway."

"Oh you don't?" Sugarfoot's tone and facial expression became patronizing. "Because it does, officer. It makes a  _world_ of difference. And I think you know that." He gave Lucky a smugly expectant look. "Don't you?"

Lucky shifted in his seat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on!" Sugarfoot burst cheerfully. "If there's one thing I've learned in this business it's that you can't put much stock in anything a  _toon_ says."

"But you  _are_ a toon!" Bonkers cried in protest.

"Sure! But then I  _freely admit_ that my tooney brethren are morons, cowards and exaggerators. I have nothing to gain by lying. And lest you think me  _one_ of those morons, cowards or exaggerators, I ask you – would I be where I am today if I were any  _one_ of those things? I think  _not."_ He stood and began to pace. "Look, human officer – whatever your name is – your _source_ was right about one thing. Gimblebee  _did_ come and audition. But he was  _terrible._ And I threw him out. That was it. That's the whole story. As to where he is now and what he's doing, your guess is as good as mine. But I will tell you one thing, if you spend all your time chasing down leads you got from  _toons_ , then Gimblebee is as good as gone."

"Hey, a lead from a toon led us to  _you,_ didn't it?" Lucky spat, also rising to his feet.

"Yes, but a cursory glance through the mayor's appointment book would have told you that he was here in the weeks leading up to his disappearance, correct? And  _without_ having had your partner blow up a soundstage, humiliate you in front of a studio head and waste an entire afternoon, right?"

Lucky's heart dropped. Sugarfoot was right.

Sugarfoot smirked. "You should be a little more careful in whose opinion you trust, officer. Toons have a  _lot_ of things rattling around in their heads – the  _truth_ very often isn't one of them." He turned his back to them. "Ott, show them out."

Ten minutes later, Lucky stalked out of the front gates of Sugarfoot Studios, with Bonkers close behind him. Bonkers had managed to keep silent during that time, but now that they were out of earshot of anyone, he jumped in with, "Lucky, look,  _don't_  listen to that guy – every toon in Toontown knows he's  _crazy – "_

"He  _is_ crazy," Lucky said.

Bonkers breathed a sigh of relief.

Lucky shrugged. "But he's  _right."_

Bonkers' shoulders slumped. Lucky turned and began the slow lope back to the Crown Victoria parked two streets over. The bobcat watched him for a moment before his face lit up with an idea, and he bounded after his partner, calling, "Say Lucky, let me take you out for dinner tonight, hm? You remember that place over McDougal that served bacon-covered doughnuts and how it used to be your favorite and you used to say that if it ever went out of business then there was no reason to live on the West Coast? Well, it went out of business, but there's this  _other_ place a couple blocks over that serves  _chocolate covered bacon on frosted doughnuts,_ and I was just saying to Barney the other day that  _my old partner Lucky would_ _love_ _this place_ and then Barney said  _would he love having to sit here listening to you yammer away about the eating habits of some person you never met_ and I said  _yes he most certainly would because Lucky has a big heart_ and Barney said  _I bet he's got a big midsection too if this is the sort of place he'd frequent_ and I pointed out to Barney that  _his_ physique isn't exactly  _lithe,_ and – "

Lucky stopped in his tracks and held up a weary hand against the rambling onslaught. "Bonkers, please. Look, I'm – " Lucky scratched the back of his head and avoided eye contact. "I'm tired, all right? I'll see you tomorrow down at the station."

Bonkers' face fell as Lucky turned and walked away. "Yeah. Ok. Sure thing, partner," he mumbled quietly, taking off his hat and wringing it in his hands. He squinted slightly in the sunset, threw another look at studio behind him and heaved a sigh before turning the opposite direction that Lucky had gone in and began the trek home.


	5. Chapter 5

"…so yesterday was a  _complete_ waste of time, and  _today_ has about as much of a chance of going  _smoothly_ as the diet your mother put me on." Lucky sighed as he speared a piece of fried egg on his fork and dipped it in a cup of gravy to the left of his plate. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to request a partner for this case. Wait, let me revise that: maybe it wasn't such a good idea to request  _Bonkers_ as a partner for this case." The sympathetic eyes of Marilyn met Lucky's across the table of the greasy diner she'd met him in for breakfast. He gave her a sweet smile. "All the same, kid, I'm glad I got a chance to see ya. Your mom and I miss you like crazy. Haven't you ever thought of…you know..."

She rolled her eyes, a timid smile curling in the corner of her mouth. "Come on, Dad. You know there's no market for animators – "

" – in Washington. I know, kiddo. I know. But it was worth a shot." He laughed softly, a twinge of sadness in his voice. "Look, I want you to follow your dreams, but no matter how old you get, you'll always be my little girl. I just want you to be safe in the big city. And happy. And have enough money to eat and live in an apartment that isn't  _condemned_ and be able to go out with your friends sometimes and have a job you enjoy and – "

 _"Dad."_ Marilyn blushed. "I'm  _fine_. And you shouldn't be so hard on Bonkers – he's been a good friend to me since moving back."

Lucky raised an eyebrow. "You mean you willingly invite that sort of chaos into your life? Thought I raised you better than that."

She shrugged. "But it's true, Dad. Whenever my clunker breaks down, he comes and picks me up. He buys me lunch when I forget to bring mine. Feeds my fish when I'm out of town. Scares off creepers by pretending to be my overly-protective feral cat with rabies – "

An ear-shattering rendition of the Hamster Dance suddenly erupted from Lucky's hip, interrupting Marilyn into a stunned silence. He clasped his hand to the cell phone there but couldn't avoid the incredulous stares from other customers in the restaurant. Lucky laughed feebly. "It's a classic!" he announced with a weak shrug.

Before Lucky could even get in a "hello" the voice on the other end immediately lit into a tirade that Marilyn couldn't quite make out, but by the increasingly pensive look on her father's face, she knew their breakfast would be coming to an abrupt end.

"Uh huh…uh huh…oh really…yes…yeah, I'll be sure…right…right away, Captain Grating." Lucky shot up out of his seat, the motion taking out half of the breakfast on the table before he realized that he'd used the tablecloth as a bib. "I've got to go, honey," he said frantically, tearing his "bib" away and throwing some money on the table. "The city of Toontown just granted a special warrant to search Gimblebee's office. I've got to get over there and see if any evidence was overlooked – "

"You'll take Bonkers too, won't you?"

Lucky threw his daughter an aggravated look until he noticed the woeful, large-eyed expression on Marilyn's face. He spoke somewhat more haltingly than he would have liked when he protested, "Honey, look. I've got a job to do, and I can't do it with a partner who's – well, who's a few crayons short of the box, all right? This is a high profile case, and – " Marilyn's gaze melted into something that looked to be on the verge of weeping, and Lucky cupped his hands against the onslaught. "Look, Marilyn, Bonkers – well, look, I can't just – " A tear danced on the edge of her left eye and Lucky sighed in defeat. He'd never been able to hold out against that expression on her face; she could have worn that look while asking him to go commit arson, and he would have immediately started searching for the matches.

He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. "All right.  _All right._ I'll call the little hairball and brace myself for the inevitable career-destroying fallout of our partnership. Ok? Now stop that, will you?"

Marilyn's face immediately snapped back to normal and she gave him a smile, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Have a good day, Daddy!" she chirped as her father begrudgingly grabbed his coat and stalked out of the restaurant. She sat back and took a deep, satisfied swig of her orange juice; Bonkers had taught her the Woeful Innocent Expression trick as a kid, and he was nothing if not a good teacher.

...

* * *

...

Lucky knew that his partner had beaten him to the mayor's office as soon as he stepped inside the lobby of Toontown City Hall.

"Barney, you  _gotta_ let me in!" a shrill, insistent tone boomed from the hallway that led to the mayor's office, momentarily stopping Lucky dead in his tracks. He couldn't see Bonkers, but that voice would be discernible from across a football field of stampeding rhinos.  _"Lucky_ and I have a  _warrant_ to search this office!"

"Well,  _I_ haven't seen it," Barney's disaffected drawl replied.

Lucky took a quick look around and noted without surprise that the city hall of the most chaotic burg in the world certainly looked the part. As he passed, Lucky glanced into the glass door of the records department just in time to see a filing cabinet on the far side of the room explode into a fountain of legal documents spewing into the air, causing the secretaries don military helmets and deploy nets from the ceiling to reign in the rogue papers. In the water and sewer department, five fearless toon workers were busy wrangling a shrieking, green sewer monster who'd come up from the depths through the drain of the break room after being baited (the public works department having gotten several terrifying complaints about the creature), and as Lucky passed the clerk's office, he was glad to see that everything looked relatively normal – until he noticed that the rubber stamps seemed to be picketing around the interior of the office, each carrying a sign that read, "STAMPING HURTS. STAMP OUT STAMPING TODAY."

Muttering something darkly under his breath, Lucky quickly averted his eyes and soldiered on towards the mayor's office, which had its own corridor off the main hallway. This is where he found the mountainous form of Barney Klyser effectively blocking the entrance to the office, which was still cordoned off with police tape. Barney stood leaning against the door frame, a cup of coffee in one hand and a greasy breakfast sandwich in the other; Bonkers, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, where is he?" Lucky demanded, turning in circles looking for Bonkers. "Where'd he go?"

"Beats me." Barney took a large bite out of his sandwich. "Said something about switching tactics - "

"EVERYONE STAY CALM." The piercing cacophony of a handheld loudspeaker immediately made Barney and Lucky clap their hands to their ears. "WE'RE GOING TO NEGOTIATE THIS IN A CALM, PEACEFUL MANNER."

"Bonkers  _what are you doing?!"_ Lucky bellowed over the noise. Bonkers, handheld loudspeaker in hand, suddenly appeared upside down, hanging by his tail from a rafter above them.

"Lucky! You made it!" Bonkers whispered with a grin. "I think I'm onto something here! Tell me what you think - just  _imagine me…_ as a  _hostage negotiator."_ He paused dramatically to let that sink in for a moment. Lucky stared back at him in horrified silence, momentarily paralyzed in terror at the thought.

"Bonkers - " he began when he regained the use of his voice.

"Hush!" Bonkers clapped his hand to Lucky's mouth. "This is a precarious situation that requires the skilled capabilities of an individual with  _years_ of experience in high-risk negotiation techniques." He pulled a wad of papers out from behind his back.  _"But_ I didn't have time for that, so I just Googled 'hostage negotiating.' Lucky, what does 'confabulation' mean?" He looked thoughtful. "Is it a compliment? You look  _confabulacious_ in that sweater vest - "

"Bonkers, may I point out to you that aside from the fact that we're  _wasting time,_ there  _is no hostage situation?"_

"Not true, partner!" Bonkers proclaimed bravely, pointing towards Barney as though he were pointing out a flesh-hungry wild animal they were about to - well, not  _kill,_ surely, but perhaps one they would humanely tranquilize, transport to a wildlife refuge run by a darling couple originally from Minneapolis who had majored in animal husbandry and 18th century British poetry, and then release into the sanctuary under the watchful eyes of a documentary crew who just  _knew_ this wide-angle shot would totally blow the film festival judges away. Yes. Yes, let's go with that. "Barney is holding  _that office_ hostage, and I've got to  _negotiate_ into letting us search it!"

"Why don't I just show him the search warrant? That I have right here in my hand?" Lucky stated flatly, holding up the warrant.

Bonkers scoffed. "Lucky, it's called  _resume building,"_ he replied, exasperated. "Employers want  _real world experience."_

He leapt down from the rafters and stood in front of Barney, consulting the crumpled papers the secretaries in the accounting department had been nice enough to print off for him. "Right. First off, I have to determine if you are hostile." He pointed the loudspeaker at Barney's face. "ARE YOU HOSTILE?"

Barney dropped his coffee down the front of his shirt in surprise and gritted his teeth. "Get that thing out of my face!"

"Definitely...hostile..." Bonkers muttered, making notes on his paper.

Barney began fanning his shirt. "Land  _sakes,_ what is  _wrong_ with you?"

Bonkers' face brightened. "You're asking questions! You're opening a line of communication! This guide says that's a  _good_ thing!" Bonkers cheered. Again he pointed the loudspeaker at him. "THE IMPORTANT THING IS TO REMAIN CALM."

"I was  _perfectly calm_ until you - "

"WHAT ARE YOUR DEMANDS?"

"I  _demand_ that you get  _away_ from me!" Barney bellowed, snatching the loudspeaker away from Bonkers gruffly and resisting the urge to hit him over the head with it. He smoothed his hair back down and took a few deep breaths. Anything that required action on his part - be it chasing a criminal, filling out paperwork, or simply sustaining an energy-sapping emotion like anger - offended his indolent nature and made him long for a nap in his office chair. "So help me, you're  _not_  getting in this office, Bonkers," he declared vehemently. "Toons have caused _enough_ trouble on this case without one of them being the  _investigating officer."_

Resentment instantly rose in Lucky's throat when he caught the small flinch Barney's words had inflicted upon Bonkers, who - even taking all of the moronic stunts into account - had still done more to try and solve this case - or any case - than Barney ever had.

"Well like it or not, he  _is_ an investigating officer, assigned to this case not only by your  _own boss,_ but by special request of an agent of the FBI - namely,  _me,"_  Lucky piped up, striding over to where Barney stood towering over Bonkers. "And like it or not, I  _outrank_ you," he practically growled, face to face with Barney. Lucky shoved the warrant into Barney's pudgy palm and watched as the lieutenant's face fell. "Now, if you wouldn't mind getting the  _hell_ out of our way, Officer Bonkers and I have an investigation to carry out."

Bonkers slammed the door to the mayor's office behind him once he and Lucky were both safely inside and out of Barney's earshot a few moments later, and then grinned broadly. "Lucky, that was  _brilliant!_ I haven't seen Barney so awe-struck and speechless since they introduced that hot-dog-and-mayonnaise pizza down at the cafeteria."

"Yeah?" Lucky said a little sheepishly. "You really think so?"

"I  _know_ so!" Bonkers beamed. "Leave it to  _my_ partner to put that overgrown Twinkie in his place." He struck an impression of Lucky steaming up to Barney and snarled in a faux-brusque voice,  _"I outrank you! If you'll excuuuuse us, Officer Bonkers and I have an investigation to carry out!"_ Effect thus rendered, Bonkers collapsed in a heap of laughter, pounding on the floor with a fist. "Did you see his face when you said that? Didja?"

"Yeah, well," Lucky demurred with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck somewhat bashfully. "I guess it  _was_ pretty funny."

Bonkers wiped a tear from his eye, still giggling. "You know Lucky, out of all thirty-four of my partners, you and Miranda were always my favorites."

"Well, I'm flattered," Lucky laughed softly for a moment, then frowned as realization dawned. "Wait, you've had  _thirty-four_ partners since I left?"

"Oh, of course not!" Bonkers insisted casually, getting to his feet.  _"You_ were the first one, Lucky. I've only had  _thirty-three_ since then."

Lucky gave Bonkers a strange, half-pitying look for a few seconds before seeming to snap out of it. "Well. Well, we - we need to get back to work. Disappearances won't investigate themselves, after all," he said congenially with another small laugh. He put a hand to his chin. "But where to even start? For all we know, aside from the money being stolen, no crime's been committed. Maybe the money is even hidden in this  _office_ somewhere. Let's see now. The Toontown accounts books have already been examined, and they hold no clue as to where the money really went - "

"Hey Lucky, I've got an idea where to start," Bonkers interjected, holding a grey glove sporting a dark purple splotch on the end of a pencil. Lucky glanced over, caught sight of the glove and dove towards it.

"Don't touch that! It's got blood on it - "

 _"Blood?_ What, this dark purple spot?" Bonkers chuckled. "That's not blood, it's - "

"It could be Gimblebee's blood! Wow, this could change the direction of the case entirely! This might turn out to be a case of  _homicide!_ Careful, Bonkers, you might contaminate the evidence, and - " Lucky's rambling immediately stopped as Bonkers clamped a hand over Lucky's mouth for the second time that day.

"Good guess, Lucky, but you're wrong," Bonkers said, pulling his hand away.

Lucky crossed his arms in front of himself, appearing unconvinced. "Oh really?"

 _"Really._ You've got to think like a toon! To a  _human's_ eyes, this piece of evidence points to murder, mayhem, and impeccably savvy fashion sense. But to a  _toon,_ this glove means something completely different! For one,  _grey_ gloves would only be worn when you're trying to  _impress_ someone because grey gloves are  _extravagant_ \- otherwise, a toon would only wear the usual  _white_ gloves. So Gimblebee was someplace where he was dressed to impress. Secondly, this dark spot isn't  _blood_ because toons don't bleed  _blood,_ we bleed  _ink."_ Bonkers sniffed the dark spot, tasted it, and smacked his lips. "Besides which, this is red wine. And not cornershop swill, either."

"He spilled wine on his gloves. Thank God we were here. What a tragedy," Lucky noted sarcastically.

"He must have been  _upset._  Upset and nervous enough to be careless and spill nice red wine on expensive gloves, and upset enough to stick them in his desk and forget about them!" Bonkers continued to muse, beginning to pace on the desk. "They're ruined now and no self-respecting toon would let a stain set in a pair of expensive gloves - unless they were upset about something far more important than  _gloves_."

"Yeah, maybe something like being  _just_   _about to steal all of Toontown's money?_ Of  _course_ he was nervous. This isn't brain surgery, Bonkers."Lucky had turned and was starting to shift through drawers, looking for alternate accounts books or anything else that might be incriminating.

Bonkers sat down on the edge of the desk in silence for a few moments before whispering in a sing-song voice, "You won't find anything theeeere, partner!"

Lucky gave him an irritated look. "And why's that? Because you can tell his socks were on backwards by the impressions in the carpet? Because the lightbulb isn't screwed in all the way so that means he's in Argentina?"

Bonkers shook his head. "Because none of the places you're looking would be where an upset toon would hide anything! The truth of the matter is, a toon  _always_ hides things on the  _left_ side of anything when he's anxious or angry!"

"The  _left_ side? Look, I'd be willing to go with you on the 'stained glove means he was nervous' hypothesis, but I really can't believe – "

"But it's true! An upset toon isn't in his  _right_  mind, therefore, he hides everything on the  _left!"_ With this assertion, Bonkers marched to the left side of the room and threw open a pair of cabinet doors underneath a bookshelf. "Observe," he said. "The  _left_ side of the room, and the  _left_ side of the cabinet. If there's anything hiding in this office, it'll be in there!"

Lucky suppressed a self-satisfied smirk as he peered into the cabinet. "Empty. You almost had me going there for a second."

"Ah ah ah! Remember! Think like a toon!" From his pocket, Bonkers pulled out a toon tunnel – a floppy black disc that acted as a portal through solid material for toons – and grinned. He smoothed it against the back of the cabinet, reached into the portal and after fumbling inside for a moment, withdrew what looked like an old lockbox. Lucky's eyes lit up.

"A lockbox! Bonkers, that's great!" Lucky gave Bonkers a friendly slap on the back – that nearly sent the bobcat flying – and grinned. "Anything could be in there!"

Bonkers set the lockbox carefully on the desk and both of them peered down at it as though it were an ancient relic pulled out of a mountainside. The box itself was perhaps only twice as large as a regular lunch pail, but sported an enormous locking mechanism on the front of the box that was unlike anything either of them had ever seen. The lock had no keyholes or numbers; instead, dozens of what looked like the type bars of an old typewriter circled the gears visible inside the lock. On the right side of the locking mechanism was an ornate letter "C", but other than that, there was no writing – and certainly no clue as to how to crack the lock.

Lucky scratched his head. "Boy, I've never seen a lock like  _that._ Looks homemade."

"You bet your fleshy patootie it's homemade," Bonkers replied in an awed voice. "It's one of a kind. See these type bars? They're off an old typewriter, the kind studios used to write scripts, and lookat this letter 'C' – the only times I've ever seen that  _sheen_ and that  _font_ was on old movie theater posters,  _cartoon_ theaters that is. Whoever built this built it to be one of a kind, and to put something very important into!"

"So…how we get it open?" Lucky ventured a beat later. "Having the boys at the lab analyze it and blow it open might take more time than we  _have,_ and I'd bet my next paycheck that no locksmith in this city has ever seen a lock like  _this_ one."

"Don't fret, Lucky! Remember the immortal words of our nation's greatest poet."

Lucky looked confused. "Whitman? Frost? Yeats?"

"Vanilla Ice _. 'If there was a problem, yo, I'll solve it?'"_

"Uh, right. Look – "

"You know, Lucky, you can take the toon out of the nineties," Bonkers reminisced with a sentimental look in his eye. "But you can't take the nineties out of the toon."

Be that as it may, Lucky soon made it abundantly clear that time was of the essence, and timely nostalgia had no place on the police force. As if in response, Bonkers whipped out a magnifying glass and a deerstalker hat from behind his back and began to scrutinize the area. He was halfway up the left wall of the room, very near to the cabinet where they'd found the lockbox, when he stopped on a framed animation cell of an ocean scene. Mickey Mouse, holding a beach umbrella with Minnie Mouse balanced on top, looked as though he was skipping across the shore with the water beside them.

He frowned. "I've  _seen_ that cartoon," Bonkers whispered. His eyes lit up. "Of course! It's an old Disney cartoon! And the song they sang in that cartoon was an old Vaudeville song! And just maybe…" Bonkers slid in front of the lockbox.  _"Over and under…"_ he half-sang as he depressed the key at the very top of the locking mechanism and the key at the very bottom.

"… _and then up for air,"_ Lucky joined in, the tune as familiar to him now as when he'd first heard it as a kid at the cartoons.

"Now you're thinking like a toon, Lucky!"

Each giving the other a grin, they both sang,  _"By the beautiful sea!"_ and together pressed the key directly next to the beautiful 'C' on the right side of the box.

Something clicked within the locking mechanism and the lid popped up a half inch.

"Ha! We did it!" Lucky crowed.

Bonkers gave him a smug look. "Say it."

"Oh, come on – "

"Saaaaay it, Lucky."

"All right, all right." Lucky gave his partner a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. "I'll admit that was...an impressive bit of deduction, Bonkers." His expression immediately changed to one of puzzlement. "But why would Gimblebee leave the police clues as to how to open the box?"

"Lucky, they weren't clues for  _us_ , they were clues for  _him_ , in case he ever forgot," Bonkers explained.

Lucky again crossed his arms in front of himself. "Well, then he's an even bigger moron than I originally thought he was. Why would he do that?"

The bobcat stood on his tip toes and innocently asked, "Do you still leave your voicemail password taped to your cell phone battery?"

Lucky's countenance faded. "Point taken."

When the lid to the box was thrown open, both officers looked at the contents quizzically for a moment before Bonkers pulled the only item out of the box – an old, rolled up poster. He unrolled it crisply and frowned. "It's an old cartoon poster."

Lucky looked over his shoulder and mirrored his partner's confused expression. "King…Ring-a-Ding?" he read from the poster in befuddlement. "Who the hell is King Ring-a-Ding?"

The oversized poster had yellowed in age and cracked slightly, but the reds, purples and oranges still stood out in vivid relief. A toon lion with an oversized maw and skinny body grinned out at the world from the poster, holding an old rotary phone receiver to his ear, a mass of green jungle behind him. The font of the letters and the colors were similar to the 'C' on the lockbox from which the poster had come; the poster itself read in bright yellow font:

_King Ring-a-Ding in…_ _**Call of the Wild!** _ _Starts Tuesday, limited run._

"Why would he keep an old cartoon poster locked up in such a secure location?" Lucky mused, leaving Bonkers' side and beginning to pace. "Gimblebee isn't a lion  _or_ an old cartoon star, so it can't be him." Lucky's face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Got it. It's an antique, a collectible. You know what some collectors pay for old posters like that, especially if they're rare? They can go for thousands of dollars,  _hundreds_ of thousands. And Gimblebee's got that animation cell on the wall, so he  _must_ be a collector of old toon memorabilia. No  _wonder_ it was locked up so tight; we just stumbled on part of his collection, that's all." He chuckled in relief. "First thing that's made any sensein this case so far. Bonkers? You listening? You know, when you go this long without making a racket I start to worry – "

"Lucky, I don't think Gimblebee's an animation collector," Bonkers said in a voice that was tinged with anxiety. He turned the poster over and showed Lucky the back. Lucky frowned and struggled to make out the handwritten scrawl there in black ink that read:

_Won't we have some fun, when Toontown finds out you're a One? – K_

"Let me see that," Lucky muttered, snatching the poster and scrutinizing the handwriting. After a moment, he shook his head. "An autograph. So what? It just proves my point: this is a valuable collectible, and with an autograph, it makes it even  _more_  valuable. Why wouldn't he want to keep that safe somewhere?"

Bonkers jumped to his feet. "Something about this doesn't  _feel_  right. And it's  _not_ just because this new underwear I'm wearing rides up in the back. The glove, the lockbox, the poster – they must all  _mean_ something!"

Lucky's forehead creased in a frown and he rubbed his temples. "Look, we're here searching for evidence of wrong-doing.  _That's_ the case we're here on, not why Gimblebee's gloves are stained or why he collects old cartoon posters."

"Well  _I_ think it's a lead," Bonkers said resolutely, clutching the poster to him.

"Well  _I_ think it's  _pointless._ And  _I'm_ the FBI agent."

"And  _I'm_ the toon that the FBI agent asked to  _help_ him because  _I'm_ a toon and he  _isn't."_

Lucky's steely gaze held Bonkers' for a moment before he sighed. "I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. "Ok, Bonkers, let's say this  _is_ a lead. But who  _is_ King Ring-a-Ding and what the hell is a 'One'?"

"Haven't a clue," Bonkers replied with a shrug. "But I do know someone who  _would_ know."

…

* * *

…

"We should have called first," Lucky said nervously as he stepped up to the front door of the bright looking home in a well-to-do neighborhood in Toontown three miles from the mayor's office, Bonkers bounding along behind him. Lucky yanked at his collar and stared up at the portico that stood over them. "He probably isn't even home. Big star like him? Ha!" He gave an unconvincing smile and shrug while stepping down off the porch. "Guys like him have an army of assistants to keep people like us  _away!_ We're just wasting our time, Bonkers."

"Mickey?  _Naaah,"_ Bonkers countered with a wave, grabbing Lucky's belt loop with his other hand and pulling his partner back towards the door. "Mickey an' me go way back! He'll be _ecstatic_ to see us!"

"You said the same thing about Woody Woodpecker. Remember?" Lucky crossed his arms in front of his chest, his expression momentarily darkening. "I spent a  _month_ in a full-body cast after he kicked us out of his treehouse.  _Kicked_ me _._ Out of a  _tree._  You know.  _Several dozen_   _feet_ above the  _ground."_

"Oh, pish. There's no reason to be nervous, partner," Bonkers explained airily as he rang the doorbell, which played the whistle melody from  _Steamboat Willie_. Lucky grimaced. "You got nothin' to worry about. Everyone knows that Mickey's the nicest toon in Toontown!"

"Easy for you to say," Lucky muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

"Boy, what could be taking so long?" Bonkers wondered aloud, tapping his foot impatiently. "We haven't got all day! We've got a crime to crack! A nefarious no-goodnik to nab! Dry cleaning to drop off!" As if to illustrate his point, Bonkers began jabbing the doorbell impatiently, creating a shrill, obnoxious whistling cacophony that Lucky felt sure must be the soundtrack of Hell itself.

"Bonkers, stoppit!" he cried above the din, swatting his partner's hand away. "Let's just get going, all right?" He grabbed Bonkers by his collar and beginning to drag him back towards the car. "You said it yourself, we haven't got time for this - "

"Now wait just a minute!" Bonkers wiggled his way out of Lucky's grasp. Bonkers pulled the old cartoon poster of King Ring-a-Ding from behind his back - Lucky had never quite worked up the courage to ask how he did stuff like that - and thrust a finger into it pointedly. "Mickey is the  _only_ guy I can think of who might know  _anything_ about what this poster or the writing on the back means. He knows more about toon history than almost  _anyone else_ in Toontown because he  _lived_ it!"

Lucky threw up his hands. "Mickey would've had to be  _deaf_ to miss that racket back there. He's  _not_ home. Besides, I still say that for all we know, that poster means  _nothing."_

 _"Or_ it could be  _something."_ Bonkers stood his ground. "Lucky, old cartoon posters mean a lot to toons. Humans have history books and old newspapers and museums - but toons only have old movie posters and cartoon shorts to tell us our own early history! Destroying an antique cartoon poster by writing  _this_ sort of note on the back - " here Bonkers pointed to the ugly scrawl on the back of the poster " - is  _serious!_ Lucky, you gotta believe me. It's a  _toon_ thing. I  _know_ this is important!"

Lucky sighed. "Look, even if you're right, it's a moot point anyway. Mickey's obviously not home, and - "

 _"Hey,_ what do you think my doorbell is, hm? A musical instrument?"

Lucky and Bonkers turned in sync to see an irate-looking toon mouse standing on the doorstep behind them, a towel knotted around his waist, soaking wet and dripping soap suds from his ears.

"Mickey!" Bonkers burst, rushing up the walk and throwing a friendly arm around Mickey's shoulders. "Long time no see, buddy! I  _love_ what you've done with your ears - "

Mickey gave them both an incredulous scowl. "Who're  _you_ guys? What's the idea of ringing that doorbell like you own the place? Can't a fella enjoy his shower in peace without tourists beating down his door? Listen, Disneyland's  _thattaway!"_ he barked, pointing off into the distance.

"Mickey, it's me, Bonkers! Dontcha remember?" Bonkers cleared his throat primly. "I made a few of those  _public indecency charges_ disappear a few years ago?"

Mickey's eyes widened. "Oh. Yeah. That." He put a palm to his forehead, a look of consternation crossing his face. "Boy, you'd think a guy who's worn the same red shorts in public for the last eighty years wouldn't suddenly be taken for some yahoo parading around in his underwear."

Now it was Lucky's turn to clear his throat, which he did with an ingratiating grin. "Mr. - uh, Mr.  _Mouse._ I told Bonkers how  _busy_ you are and how you couldn't  _possibly_ have time for us - "

"Not at all! Anyone who can keep Bob Iger off my back is a friend of mine," Mickey interrupted, patting Bonkers on the shoulder. He seemed to suddenly pause, mid-expression, and studied Lucky carefully for a moment. "Say...don't I know you?"

"Me? No! No, absolutely not!" Lucky did his best to give an earnest-sounding chuckle. "In fact, I don't even live around here. I mean, I  _used_ to live here, long time ago, you understand, and well - that is, I mean, I'm on special assignment, see - I live all the way  _across the country,_ I don't - "

"All right, all right. I don't need your life story there, Dickens." Mickey leaned into Bonkers. "Boy, where'd you pick  _him_ up?"

"Civil service. Heh." Bonkers caught the deadpan look on Lucky's face and coughed into his fist dryly.  _"Anyyyywho,_ Mick – can I call ya Mick? – we could sure use your expertise on case we're working on. Mind if we come in?"

A moment later, Lucky found himself sitting gingerly on a sofa that was entirely too whimsical for his tastes. Pictures of toon legends with an arm around Mickey lined the wall, as well as a few pictures of Minnie, one of Donald and Mickey that looked like it had been taking in the midst of a wild party (a pair of pink panties hung capriciously from one of Mickey's ears and Donald looked like he was one margarita away from soaking the room in puke), and a few framed newspaper articles.

"Oh gee Mickey, I'm  _such_ a big fan of yours," Bonkers was rambling in the doorway of the bathroom where Mickey stood in front of the mirror cleaning his ears with an enormous Q-Tip. "Why, do you know that you and I have  _both_ done Christmas movies? I just wrapped on a little number called  _Santa in Paradise,_ and – "

"Hey Bonkers, that's great," Mickey broke in in a disinterested voice. "How about giving me a minute, huh?"

"Sure thing, Mick!" Bonkers bounced into the living room, as light as a feather. "We're at  _Mickey Mouse's house!"_ he hissed to Lucky ecstatically. "Can ya  _believe_ it?"

"Look, let's just not take too much of his time, Bonkers," Lucky warned. "He's got to be busy, you know, doing whatever it is that Disney mascots do all day."

"A lot of meet and greets, heh," Mickey replied with a smile as he strode out into the living room, now fully clothed. "Just last week the Chinese ambassador's son threw up all over me at a Disney-sponsored banquet."

"That's too bad!" Lucky murmured sympathetically, in what he hoped sounded like a genuine tone.

"Oh, that wasn't even the worst part. I didn't have time to get changed before my song and dance number.  _When You Wish Upon a Star_ isn't nearly as moving when its being sung by someone covered in vomit." Mickey glanced at his watch. "I can only give you guys ten minutes. My favorite afternoon cartoon show start in ten minutes."

Lucky rolled his eyes; he should have expected that.

Bonkers obligingly smoothed out the poster of King Ring-a-Ding on the coffee table in front of all of them. Mickey took one glance at it and his expression darkened. He balled his fists. "Gee, where in the world did you ever get something like that?" he demanded.

"You  _know_ who King Ring-a-Ding is?" Lucky asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil.

" _Know_ him? You mean  _knew_ him. No one's seen that low-down, gosh-darned creep in  _decades,_ and good riddance! I hope Toontown never sees him again!" Mickey burst.

"Who  _is_ he, Mick?" Bonkers chimed in.

"Aw gee, I s'pose I'm  _gonna_ miss my cartoons after all," Mickey pouted, putting his chin in his hands. "King Ring-a-Ding was a cartoon star back in the forties and fifties," he began. "From what I remember, he was first animated in 1948. In all his cartoons, the gag was that he was the king of the jungle but spent most of the time gabbing on the phone – that's where his name came from, ya see – and he never noticed some crisis until it was almost too late. There was a fire in the jungle, or they were being attacked by jungle tribes or big-game hunters, and he didn't realize it until the last minute because he was talking on the phone. Everything always turned out all right, of course – there weren't any unhappy endings in cartoons back then – and he always used the phone to call for help; to the cavalry, or armies of stinging ants, or to plumbers to stop a flood in the jungle, whatever was funniest. Anyway, audiences back then  _loved_ it; they ate it right up. King Ring-a-Ding was rich, he was popular, and he was toon royalty – he  _knew_  everyone, he was  _friends_  with everyone, and he moved in all the best social circles. He was on top of the world!

"Anyway, in the 1950's, the Toontown newspapers began to publish huge exposés on some of the biggest toon stars at the time – all of the  _private_ stuff that no one was supposed to know about! Lucky, humans like you might not like to admit it, but plenty of toons have skeletons in their closets they don't want anyone to know about, just the same as a human being. There were some toons whose reputations were totally and forever destroyed by some of the stories coming out – and what's worse, not all of the stories were even  _true._  Everyone in Toontown went berserk looking for the Toontown Mole, which is what we called the traitor who'd been selling our private lives to the press. The only common denominator was that all of the toon stars being slandered were friends of King Ring-a-Ding. After a lot of pressure, King Ring-a-Ding finally  _admitted_ he was the Toontown Mole – apparently Toontown newspapers were paying him a  _whole lotta_ money for juicy tabloid stories about toon stars, and the guy went ahead and told him all of his friends' secrets! And when he ran out of secrets that were  _true,_ why, he just made some  _up,_ just so the money kept coming! Heh, Toontown was out for that guy's  _ink_ after that – they ran him outta Toontown, and no one has seen or heard from him since!"

"Until now," Lucky said darkly, flipping the King Ring-a-Ding poster over and pointing to the threatening message on the back.

Mickey's eyes widened as he read over the text. "Gee," he muttered.

Lucky set his jaw. "It's signed  _K –_ for  _King_ Ring-a-Ding! Bonkers, this guy has come  _back_ to Toontown and has been blackmailing the mayor!  _That's_ where all the money went!" He stood up. "Thanks for your help, Mickey. We'll get going now."

"Gee fellas, uh, you sure about that?" Mickey shot to his feet, looking a little anxious. "I mean, that's  _one_ way to interpret that message, of course – " He stopped suddenly, then frowned indignantly at Lucky. "Hey,  _now_ I remember you –  _you_ were the officer that raided the House of Mouse!"

Lucky broke into a cold sweat and laughed humorlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, it was all just a big understanding – "

"You  _raided_ the House of Mouse?" Bonkers asked with no little amount of awe. "And you didn't even bring me back a t-shirt from the souvenir shop?

"Well, it – it turns out we were acting on information that – that – " Lucky cleared his throat gruffly, clearly uncomfortable. " – that perhaps wasn't  _one hundred percent_ accurate – "

Bonkers patted Lucky's arm affectionately. "I had to wait  _months_ to get a reservation there but you took the proactive route, partner – a battering ram! That's  _one_ way to get inside!"

"Gee, what was your first clue that the House of Mouse wasn't a secreted drug den?" Mickey put his hands on his hips. "Was it the total lack of drugs? The total lack of customers saying it was a drug den? Or was it the  _total lack of evidence?"_

"Look, the department might have gotten a  _little_ carried away – "

"' _A little carried away'_! Fifty armed guys in swat uniforms rushed the stage during Minnie's routine, put her in a headlock and ordered full-body cavity searchers for everyone in the audience! It was  _days_ before anyone could sit down without wincing – "

"I think we've already established that it was a  _big_ mistake – "

"Get out of my house!" Mickey ordered piercingly, already beginning to shoo Lucky towards the door. "That's right! You heard me! Get out!"

Lucky skidded out of the front door under his own power, but threw a scowl over his shoulder and muttered, "'Nicest toon in Toontown' my a – "

"Wow Mickey, it was sure great to spend some time with ya! Think we could do lunch sometime?" Bonkers babbled as he followed Lucky outside. "Anywhere you like! My treat! Eh…as long as it would be within the purchasing power afforded by the salary of a mere  _public servant,_ you understand – "

Mickey caught Bonkers sleeve and pulled him close. "Listen, Bonkers," he whispered. "About that message written on the back of the poster – "

"Bonkers, are you coming?" Lucky called.

"Just a minute!" Bonkers called back. "What is it, Mickey?"

"Well." Mickey threw a quick, nervous glance at Lucky and then turned his attention back to Bonkers. "Toon to toon, Bonkers. Dontcha  _think_ that 'One' could mean something…eh…different from what your partner might think it is?"

Bonkers' eyes widened.

Lucky sat impatiently in the car, tapping his forefinger on the steering wheel, and watched indignantly as Bonkers headed back inside with Mickey. "Guess I'm the only one doing any  _work_ this afternoon," he muttered as he threw the car in reverse and began to speed out of Toontown. Just as he was about to hit the city limits, a sight met his eyes that immediately made him throw on the breaks and stop dead in the middle of the road. Lucky climbed out of the car, squinting in the sun, and looked up at the billboard above him.

A beaming picture of Sugarfoot grinned down at Lucky, along with words that immediately struck terror into his heart:  _Sugarfoot for Mayor – Restoring Trust and Prosperity for Toontown._

Lucky gritted his teeth and muttered, "I think things are about to get  _very_ interesting around here…"


	6. Chapter 6

"Ever get the feeling it's all meaningless?" From his prone position on the couch, one arm draped listlessly over his forehead, Bonkers sighed melodramatically. "Like everything you've ever tried to do, everything you've ever risked, all the times you've ever put it on the line for some _one_ or some _thing_ is all just one big, meaty, juicy ball of absurd emptiness?"

A woman sat on an armchair next to the couch, a notepad and a pencil in hand, looking thoughtful. Diplomas lined the wainscoted walls and the L.A. traffic was only a distant grumble in the background. "And what brought these thoughts on, Bonkers?" she asked in a subdued tone.

"Oh, it's this stupid case I'm working on with Lucky." Bonkers rolled onto his stomach, letting his left foot dangle off the edge of the couch. He heaved another sigh. "When he first came back, I couldn't have been happier! I finally had my partner back, along with a big case to prove myself to Cap and Barney. But it's the same old thing. Doesn't want to listen, doesn't want to trust me, doesn't want to get coffee at that nice, cheap little Columbian place.  _Nooo,_ he wants to drive halfway across the city to buy a cup of overpriced dirt water – "

"Bonkers."

"Ah, forget it." His tail flicked and Bonkers gave the woman a smile. "Gee, I am sure am glad we have these little sessions. You know, Fall Apart always told me that  _his_ therapist was the best in town, but he should really be coming to  _you."_

"That could pose some problems." The woman smirked. "The main one being that I'm not a therapist."

"A  _minor_  quibble." Bonkers sat up and stretched, and then gave a grin to Miranda Wright, dressed in a crisp uniform sitting in the armchair.

Miranda returned his smile and motioned to her notebook with the pencil. "You were helping me with a grocery list, remember? And then suddenly that morphed into a conversation about existential crises."

"As making grocery lists often does," Bonkers pointed out sagely.

Miranda put the notebook down on the table next to her, sensing that she never  _would_ be able to wrangle from Bonkers the secret ingredient to his famous double-cherry-banana-fudge roll that tasted of neither of cherries or bananas, but was nonetheless addictively delicious. She had been an instructor at the Police Academy for the LAPD for several years, and while there were certainly days when she missed being out on the beat, for the most part she found that training the next generation of police officers was exhilarating. Bonkers came to visit her regularly, sometimes under the guise of brushing up on his skills, but mostly just to lie on her couch between classes and shoot the breeze with his other favorite ex-partner.

"Look, it's been a long time since you two worked on a case together." Miranda stood up and poured herself a cup of coffee from her own pot in the corner – just one of the perks of being an instructor. "Sometimes when we remember the past, we remember it as having been  _better_  than it actually was. Haven't you ever thought you might be remembering your time as Lucky's partner as betterthan it actually was, especially since you haven't had much luck with partners since then?"

"But I was lucky with  _you."_ He blushed suddenly and tugged at his collar. "In an entirely platonic, professional way, that is."

She laughed and ruffled the fur on top of his head with a sentimental smile. "Everybody changes, Bonkers. Maybe it's you. Maybe it's Lucky. Maybe it's  _both_  of you."

"I've  _never_ changed!" Bonkers stood resolutely. "Not one whit, not a smidgen, not even a scintilla! Not never, not no-how!"

Miranda gave him a wry smile and tugged at his ears. "Didn't the tips of these ears used to be  _red?"_ She leaned down to face him, arching an eyebrow. "And aren't you sporting  _black_ spots these days?"

"They have a…slimming effect," Bonkers answered airily with a haughty sniff.

"Come on," Miranda prodded. "I've seen pictures of you when you were Lucky's partner, and you looked like a completely different toon when you were with me. Now you're back to how you looked in the first place."

"So what?" A rare hint of annoyance crept into Bonkers' voice. "It's not a crime to change one's style, is it?"

"Of course not," Miranda replied with another shrug, this one slightly defensive. "But if Lucky's changed, you can't say  _you_ haven't either."

"But revision is something completely different!" Bonkers erupted and immediately clapped both hands over his mouth while a look of consternation crossed his face. He took his hands away from his mouth and sighed. "Gee, I'm sorry, Miranda. I didn't mean to snap at you."

For her part, Miranda was giving Bonkers a searching look. "Re…vision? What's that?"

"Don't worry about it, Miranda." Bonkers tried valiantly to brighten his expression, but failed. "It's a…toon thing. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Well, it's evidently worrying you." Miranda sat down on the couch next to her friend. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

Bonkers, despite looking unsure, took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the door to Miranda's office flew open to reveal a sweat-soaked, panting Lucky standing on the threshold.

"Bonkers!" he hollered. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! I have something to – " Lucky reached around to his back pocket as he stepped into the room, and was immediately tackled by Miranda, who, despite the weight difference, easily pinned him face-down on the floor with her arm around his neck and her elbow wedged into his back, effectively immobilizing him.

"Identify yourself!" she barked, digging her elbow in deeper, making Lucky howl girlishly and kick his feet helplessly.

"Wow! Impressive, huh Lucky?" Bonkers whispered conspiratorially to Lucky, who now had tears brimming in his eyes from the pain. "Boy, she took you out in two seconds  _flat!"_

"Just…spectacular…" Lucky managed to squeak.

" _This_ is Lucky?" Miranda leapt up and brushed herself off. "Sorry about that. Reflexes. You know how it is," she finished with a timid laugh.

"I would, if I still had any feeling in my spine," Lucky countered, lugging himself off the floor. His back cracked, making him grimace and mutter, "Ohhh yeah. Gonna feel  _that_ in the morning."

"Favorite ex-partner, meet my  _other_ favorite ex-partner," Bonkers said, taking Miranda's hand and Lucky's, then smooshing them together in a half-hearted handshake. "Isn't this great? Isn't this just wonderful?" He wiped a tear from his eye. "This is happening  _just_ like in my six-hundred page fictionalized autobiography that I wrote last weekend, except that there's less heavy metal music and I'm not trying to stop an invasion of Venusians while you two dangle precariously from a cliff, waiting for me to rescue you with my robot arms."

"And to think some people believe good taste is dead," Lucky mumbled sarcastically, finally grabbing the newspaper out of his back pocket. "I wanted you to see this, Bonkers." His face darkened. "Looks like Sugarfoot isn't wasting any time moving into Gimblebee's spot."

Bonkers grabbed the paper to get a better look.  _ **TOONTOWN STUDIO MOGEL RUNNING FOR MAYOR OF TOONTOWN,**_ the headline screamed. A beaming picture of Sugarfoot with a saccharine smile plastered across his face grinned up at Bonkers, who shivered slightly. "Oh, this is bad," Bonkers tsked. "Like 'reality star releasing a pop album' bad."

Miranda took the newspaper and scanned the headline. "Sugarfoot? You think he's caught up in all of this with the mayor somehow?"

Lucky nodded. "I'm  _certain_ of it – I just don't know exactly where he  _fits_ in all of this." He began to pace furiously, hand on his chin, face downcast.

"Welllll, it  _could_ have something to do with what Mickey said yesterday," Bonkers mused, sitting on the arm of the couch.

Lucky stopped. "Look, for the last time, that raid was orchestrated on eye witness evidence I truly believed to be  _rock solid – "_

"No, no, not about that." Bonkers leaned in close to Lucky. "Though I'm  _dying_ to hear what you found in the dressing rooms. Is it true that Minnie dyes her ears? You don't have to say anything, just shake your head yes or – "

"What did Mickey say, Bonkers?" Miranda chimed in helpfully, seeing the expression of rage beginning to rise on Lucky's face.

"Oh, that! Well!" Bonkers plopped himself back down on the couch. "It's a matter of  _toon physiology_. We toons don't like to talk about it. In fact, I – " here, Bonkers' gaze darted around the room and he whispered, "I  _can't talk_  about it."

"What?" Lucky cried, irritated. "Why not?"

"Because it's  _profoundly_ unfunny, that's why!" Bonkers returned. "In fact, it's  _so unfunny_ that I can't even get the words out. See?" Here, Bonkers pantomimed whatever he was trying to say, mouthing words that had no sound. He shook his head. "No good. See?"

"Is it lunchtime yet?" Lucky groaned, glancing at his watch. He sighed. "Look, just answer me this: does this…this… _toon secret_ have any relevance  _at all_ to the case?"

Bonkers nodded.

Miranda put her hands on her hips. "If we could somehow  _make_ it funny, would you be able to tell us?"

Bonkers nodded again, eyes large.

"Come on. Let's go to the classroom. I've got an idea," Miranda suggested, already leading the way. Once inside the large classroom down the hall, she opened the door to a locker room that held hundreds of various items destined to be used as mock evidence in staged crime scenes for aspiring police officers in the academy. She leaned against the doorway with a small smile. "Knock yourself out, Bonkers."

"You know him only too well," Lucky stated in amazement as Bonkers bounded into the locker room, ripping through piles of clothes, hockey sticks, lanterns and anything else that could conceivably found in a crime scene anywhere in the world. He scratched the back of his head. "But, uh…are you sure this is such a good idea? I mean, when you give Bonkers free reign on anything, it's – "

A wailing cacophony erupted from the closet as Bonkers slid out on his knees, accordion in hand and wearing a vile checkered jacket. Both Miranda and Lucky's eyes widened as Bonkers launched into a musical assault on anyone within earshot.

" _Ohhhhhhhhh!"_ he sang, pumping the accordion in a polka tune.

" _Here's something about toons you don't know,_

_We don't only just change and grow,_

_When a toon wants to change his style,_

_And not just for a little while,_

_When a toon wants to start anew,_

_There is something that he can do."_

"Get to the point, Lawrence Welk!" Lucky cried.

" _Animators don't just ink and sketch_

_A whole new toon they can etch_

_Not just feet and ears and tails_

_Not just the color of your scales_

_They can change a toon so he looks brand new_

_Doesn't look a thing like he used to."_

"Wait a minute," Miranda said, comprehension dawning on her. "Bonkers, you mean – "

Bonkers nodded, and continued his frantic polka song.

" _When a toon makes the decision,_

_He can get himself a revision_

_Only a toon with no morals,_

_One who refused to rest on his laurels,_

_Might try to avoid going to prison_

_By getting himself a total revision!"_

"Bonkers, that's it!" Lucky shouted happily. "Why, if Mickey's right – this could blow the whole case wide open!"

" _Miranda, you look very nice today_

_Are you using a new hair spray?"_

"Bonkers, that's enough," Lucky warned flatly.

" _Lucky you've got a stain on your tie_

_And another one on your thigh!"_

"All right, all right!" Lucky grabbed the accordion and threw it unceremoniously back into the locker room. "That's enough, maestro!"

"Whew! Thanks Lucky. When you get stuck in an infinite polka loop, sometimes you're there for  _weeks!"_ Bonkers said, wiping his forehead. "I'm pretty sure that's how wars get started, come to think of it."

" _So. Sugarfoot_ thinks he can hide from the law by getting a revision, huh?" Lucky ground a fist into his palm and began to pace, his expression steely. "Bonkers, you said yourself that there were always rumors that Sugarfoot used  _blackmail_ money to start his studio. Well,  _now_ his studio isn't big enough for him –  _now,_ he wants  _all_ of Toontown! Seems like Sugarfoot went back to his old tricks to get Gimblebee out of office –  _that's_ why the message on the back of the theater poster is signed  _K –_ for  _King Ring-a-Ding,_ Sugarfoot's  _former_ identity! He _blackmailed_ Gimblebee, and when the money was all gone,  _Gimblebee_ skipped town. With no one the wiser and all of Toontown's dirty secrets in Sugarfoot's –  _King Ring-a-Ding's –_  back pocket, he's a shoe-in! It's a  _brilliant_ plan – nearly fool proof. But if Sugarfoot thinks he can outsmart Special Agent Lucky  _Piquel_ and his  _partner,_ he's got another thing coming!" Lucky growled, puffing out his chest slightly and already beginning to stride out the door.

Bonkers trailed after him, with Miranda not far behind. "But – But – it's just not  _tooney_ enough!" he protested.

"Are you kidding?" Lucky swiveled around to face Bonkers. "If it was any  _toonier,_ it'd be broadcast on Saturday mornings in between Captain Crunch commercials!"

Bonkers tapped his foot impatiently. "Listen,  _I'm_ the toon expert here! Don't tell a toon what's tooney and not tooney, or just a load of screwy hooey that's about to go kablooey! Lucky, _listen –_  this whole situation just isn't  _tooney_ enough! "

"Is that  _really_  the only reason you can give me?" Lucky sighed tiredly, his face softening. "Bonkers, look." He got down on one knee and put a hand on Bonkers' shoulder. "I couldn't have come this far without you, really I couldn't have – but now, I've got to go arrest Sugarfoot for fraud and blackmail. I have a feeling that as soon as Sugarfoot isn't a threat anymore, Gimblebee will come out of hiding and we can nab him, too, provided he's still alive. But to do that, it's going to take some…finesse. It'll be dangerous, high-stakes stuff."

"But partner, haven't we always been a team?" Bonkers said. "Through thick and thin? Dangerous or not?"

"Yeah, but – Bonkers, it's…it's just that – "

"It's just that I'm a toon, right?" Bonkers' ears seemed to wilt. He tried a weak smile but failed. "And…and toons can't handle the…the  _important_ stuff?"

Lucky's expression was somber, and tinged with melancholy. "Bonkers, it's – it's that I don't want to…how can I put this…"

"You don't want this to get screwed up?" Bonkers' tone sported an uncharacteristic sharpness to it. "That's it, isn't it?  _Sure,_ you'll let a toon tag along, giving you all the cheat codes and hints to a case dealing with toons, but when the time comes to  _arrest_ and  _apprehend_ and a bunch of other 'a' words that I can't think of,  _then_ toons just need to get out of the way and let  _humans_ do all of the dangerous stuff!" His voice was rising now; even Miranda looked surprised. "Because toons can't be  _real_ cops! Oh no!  _Toons_ are just convenient experts whose  _expertise about being a toon_ isn't even worth the ink we're drawn with if it goes against a  _human's_ perceptions about what a toon would or wouldn't do!"

"Bonkers, look, calm down," Lucky soothed, genuinely concerned. The volume in Bonkers' voice had brought a few curious onlookers out into the hallway they were standing in.

"I won't calm down!" Bonkers bellowed. "Lucky, I've spent fifteen years –  _fifteen years –_ as not just a  _cop_  in Toontown, but as a  _toon_  cop in  _Toon_ town, and  _still_ no one thinks toons can be good cops!" Bonkers stopped suddenly, as though an epiphany had struck him. "A  _good_ cop. Maybe that's it. Maybe – maybe I'm just  _not_ a good cop. Maybe – maybe it  _is_ me, just like Barney and Captain Grating said _._ Maybe  _other_ toon cops  _could_  be goodcops, but since I was the first, I'm  _holding them back."_

Now it was Miranda's turn to kneel and grip Bonkers' shoulders. "Bonkers, that isn't true. That isn't true at all, and you know it!"

" _You're_ a good cop, Miranda. You are too, Lucky. I've always tried to be like you, Lucky – your hideous fashion sense aside, of course – but if one of the best cops I've ever known thinks my deductions about something I should be an  _expert_ in are  _wrong_ and that I can't handle the dangerous stuff because I'm a toon _,_  then I've got no right wearing a badge. See?" He managed a feeble smile. "I just wanted to be a good cop, Lucky, and do the right thing. That's all. And if the right thing is not being a cop anymore then…well…" Bonkers paused for a moment, then slowly removed his hat, unpinned his badge, and handed both to Lucky. "…then…I – I won't be a cop anymore," he whispered with a small shrug, real tears in his eyes.

Lucky looked down at the small hat and shiny badge in his hands. He shook his head. "Bonkers, come on, you don't have to – "

"Good luck with the case, Lucky," Bonkers said, giving Lucky a gently affectionate pat on the shoulder. "And have a good trip back to Washington. Say hello to Mrs. P for me; tell her that I miss her pancakes."

Lucky stood slowly and watched the small toon go, and then rubbed his forehead. "Criminey, that didn't go quite as I planned," he muttered to Miranda.

"Well I didn't want to say anything, but I figured as much," Miranda replied, touching the brim of Bonkers' uniform hat.

"Oh, you know how he is," Lucky said. "He gets melodramatic about things, and – "

"That wasn't melodrama. That was  _real._ And  _real_ is rare in a toon." Miranda's tone betrayed some irritation. "Look Lucky, he and I spent some time talking today, and it seems to me that all of the breaks in this case have come from  _him._ What's stopping you from trusting his judgment one last time when you're  _this close_ to wrapping up the case?"

Lucky studied Bonkers' badge for a moment before responding slowly, "I guess…I guess maybe I  _don't_ want him screwing things up." He shrugged helplessly. "Toons are so…so…"

"Tooney," Miranda answered for him, looking down the hallway where Bonkers had made his last exit, her face wistful. "That's why we  _need_ them."


	7. Chapter 7

The studio was dark.

In the light of sparse, dim security lighting, Lucky could have sworn that Sugarfoot Studios was merely rows of derelict, forgotten soundstages and administration buildings. The darkness of the streets that seemed to surround the studio lent the whole area an air of desertion, as if Sugarfoot had already abandoned the idea of being a studio mogul for that of an as-yet unelected official. But Lucky knew that Sugarfoot was in there; he had to be. Too much was happening in Toontown for him  _not_ to be there.

Which is why Lucky was there, too.

The sun had set hours earlier. Lucky had waited patiently in the Crown Victoria for what seemed an eternity, going over the facts of the case and the happenings of the past couple of days. He was certain that his version of events and his deductions were air tight – he was sure of that much, if not about Bonkers' abrupt resignation.

A pang of remorse hit Lucky squarely in the chest. He glanced over at Bonkers' hat and badge lying on the seat next to him, and thought back to Bonkers' admission that he'd had thirty-three partners since Lucky had left. Lucky knew that Bonkers, despite his generally cheery outlook, had fought an uphill battle at the Toon Division the entire time he'd been there. Heaving a sigh, Lucky resolved to find Bonkers before heading back to Washington and convince him not to quit the force.

But first, Lucky had to wrap up this case.

As he crept up to the security gate, Lucky peered into the gatehouse booth to find the short toon turtle who acted as a security guard – the same one that Bonkers had inadvertently infuriated a couple of days before – sound asleep and snoring loudly. Arching an eyebrow, Lucky reached into the booth and stealthily activated the guard gate, which swung open soundlessly and allowed Lucky to dart inside.

Creeping along the sides of the soundstages, he made his way back to the administration building, steeling himself for another meeting with the spine-chilling Sugarfoot. Just as he suspected, a lone light shone at the top of the administration building, and dark figures seemed to be moving around in the room.

The silhouette of a figure rounded the corner opposite of Lucky. The figure took no notice of him, and seemed intent upon getting into the administration building. Lucky watched as the figure approached the door, which slid open with a soft  _thwack._ Lucky waited a few seconds, and then swiftly scurried through the doors just as they began to swing shut. The figure made no indication of being aware of Lucky's presence, and instead began to climb the stairs up towards Sugarfoot's office. Lucky patiently counted two minutes before following him up.

.

* * *

.

Bonkers flung himself down on the sofa.  _"If it was any toonier, it'd be broadcast on Saturday mornings!"_ he jeered in a mocking tone. He stood up, only to fling himself down into an easy chair.  _"I couldn't have gotten this far without you, Bonkers, really I couldn't have, but_ – but! But you're a toon, so go home and let the  _human_  do all the important stuff!" Once again, he leapt up and draped himself dramatically over the kitchen counter.  _"How can I put this, Bonkers._ Hmmm. Gee. Maybe  _thanks for all of the breaks in the case but now get out of my way_?" He balled his fists. "Humans!" he cried in frustration.

"Yeah. And they smell funny, too," Fall Apart piped up, munching on a cupcake he'd found behind Bonkers' refrigerator.

"I can't believe I wasted fifteen years of my  _life_ on that stupid police force!" Bonkers sat up, putting his chin in his hands.

"Look on the bright side. Now we've finally got time to start that psychedelic dub-step cocktail music band we've always talked about," Fall Apart suggested. He suddenly made a choking _hock_ sound, and pulled a dust bunny from the back of his throat. "Now  _that's_ irony," he noted, wiggling his tail.

"There's just something  _not right_ about Lucky's deductions about the case. I can't put my finger on it," Bonkers mused, brow furrowed. Fall Apart handed him one of his fingers.

"Here, will that help?"

"I meant that metaphorically."

"What's it got to do with the weather?"

" _Metaphorically,_ not meteorology. Oh what's the use," Bonkers sighed heavily. "I quit the best job I ever had, and lost one of the best friends I ever had."

"Hey!"

"Other than you, Fall Apart." Bonkers slung an arm around Fall Apart's shoulders. "Hope you don't mind if your best buddy is an  _unemployable hack_  like me."

"That's ok. I'm unemployed too. Big Louie evidently looks down on his employees using the kitchen sink to take a bath during the lunch rush." Fall Apart shrugged. "Maybe I could get my job back at Sugarfoot's. If the mayor's going to be working in cartoons, he'll need a prop assistant, right?"

Bonkers perked up suddenly. "Hey wait a minute. You're  _right."_

" _Yeah._  The mayor's never worked in cartoons before so he'll  _definitely_ need – "

"Why would the  _mayor_ even  _audition_ for cartoons, and then  _disappear_ with all of Toontown's money? Why would  _King Ring-a-Ding_ even be  _interested_ in Gimblebee?" He jumped down off the counter and began to pace. "Why would King Ring-a-Ding send  _Gimblebee_ a King Ring-a-Ding poster with a threatening message on the back? Why were Gimblebee's  _gloves stained?_ Fall Apart!" He pivoted to face his friend. "You said that Gimblebee and Sugarfoot got in an argument after the audition, right? Do you remember what Gimblebee  _said?"_

"Sure. He said to Sugarfoot that  _we had a deal, and you can't go back on a deal."_ Fall Apart shrugged. "Maybe Sugarfoot promised him dinner and then did that thing where he pretends to have forgotten his wallet, so you end up having to pay anyway and pretending that it's fine, but it's like the  _third time_ he's done it to you – "

" _Or_ Lucky's deductions aren't correct. I  _knew_ it wasn't tooney enough!" Bonkers declared. He immediately pulled out a rolling chalkboard from behind his back and began to scribble pictures of stained gloves, the poster, along with Gimblebee, King Ring-a-Ding, and Sugarfoot. He scrutinized it carefully for a minute, tapping his forehead. "What's the connection, what's the  _connection?_ Think, Bobcat, think!"

" – and heaven knows it's happened to me  _plenty_ of times," Fall Apart was continuing to ramble, lost in his own thoughts. "You know, the guy who was always the  _worst_ at that was Woody Woodpecker. He got me every time! There was this one time – "

Bonkers' face broke into a smile. "That's  _it!"_ he cried, grabbing Fall Apart. "Woody Woodpecker!  _That's_ the connection!" He gripped Fall Apart in a bear hug that made the poor rabbit's eyes bug. "Oh, thanks buddy! It's all  _clear_ now!"

"You're welcome," Fall Apart answered in a squeak.

Bonkers froze. "Wait a minute.  _Lucky."_ He hopped up on the counter, looking out the window towards Sugarfoot Studios, a look of rising panic dawning on his face. "Lucky's in danger – _and he doesn't even know it!"_

.

* * *

.

Sugarfoot struck a match and studied the flame dancing on the tip for a moment before holding it to the end of his cigar. He inhaled slowly until a blue curl of smoke wafted from the end then exhaled unhurriedly, throwing a steady look to the toon across from him.

"So," he purred. "You've heard the news, I take it."

The trembling, corpulent toon mole balled his fists at his side, and nodded curtly despite his obvious nervousness. "Did you really think I'd let you…let you  _get away_ with this?"

A wide grin spread across Sugarfoot's face; his feline fangs shined threateningly in the scant light of the office. "I've got to admit – I'm curious to see how you're going to  _stop_ me."

Lucky pushed his ear against the door hard, making the side of his face ache. He had squatted in front of Sugarfoot's office door a few minutes earlier, content to simply eavesdrop because there weren't many other options in the narrow hallway.

Gimblebee gave Sugarfoot a dirty look. "It didn't have to come to this, Sugarfoot. You know that. We – we could have just  _stuck to the deal,_ and – "

" _The deal_ doesn't  _work_ without money, you fool!  _The deal_ means precisely  _jack_ when you're  _broke!"_ Sugarfoot bellowed, smoke pluming from his mouth, which was curled in a nasty snarl. "You should have stayed put. It would have made things a  _lot_ easier!"

It was Gimblebee's turn to look slightly smug. He crossed his arms in front of himself. "Sorry to make things so  _difficult_ for you," he sneered sarcastically. "But I'm  _through_ running. I'm _through_ lying."

"I didn't mean difficult for  _me_ , idiot." Sugarfoot parted his suit jacket slightly, showing the gleam of a gun in a holster strapped to his side. He smirked cruelly. "I meant for  _you."_

Lucky frowned from the other side of the door.

"You – you  _can't_ do this," Gimblebee stammered. "You  _can't_ be in charge of Toontown. You forget, Sugarfoot. I was mayor for long enough and saw enough backroom deals between you and shady characters that I know exactly what you'd do to this town! You'd run it the same way you run your studio – to your  _own_ benefit, and no one else's! With no regard for the lives in in Toontown!"

To Gimblebee's surprise, Sugarfoot erupted into a deep-throated laugh. "When the hell did  _you_ become such an upstanding elected officer, eh?" he roared between gales of laughter. "The only reason you  _know_ about those  _'backroom deals'_ is because  _you were in on them!_ Hell, for the past six months, you've gladly turned over every penny that came into your office to  _me!"_

"Because I  _had_ to!" Gimblebee shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "I had no choice!"

"Oh you had a choice." Sugarfoot's voice had dropped to almost a whisper. "You might not have liked either option, but you still had a  _choice."_

Gimblebee looked down at the floor, shivering slightly. "You're going to k-kill me, aren't you?" he murmured.

"Of course I am." Sugarfoot shrugged the gun out of its holster. "I  _told_ you that you shouldn't have  _come back."_

The door suddenly burst open with Lucky poised on the threshold, his own gun bared. "No one's going to die tonight, Sugarfoot," Lucky announced. "But you'll  _both_ be sitting in a jail cell by sun up."

Sugarfoot smirked again, seemingly unsurprised to see him there. "I wouldn't count on it, human officer."

Something in Sugarfoot's assured tone made Lucky hesitate for a moment, just long enough for Ott, Sugarfoot's assistant, to come up from behind and wack a mallet over Lucky's head.

Everything went dark.

.

* * *

.

Bonkers skidded across the tiled floor of the lobby, trying to gain traction on the way to the stairs. The absence of an alarm going off when he forced his way into Sugarfoot's administration building told him one thing – Sugarfoot didn't want any cops here tonight. Not for any reason.

That could only mean that whatever was going on upstairs wasn't exactly above board.

He panted as he raced up the many flights of steps towards Sugarfoot's office, taking two or three or seven at a time. As he reached the office door, he didn't hesitate for a moment and flung it wide open to find three bewildered faces looking over at him in between the slumped form of Lucky being tied to a chair.

"Lucky!" he balked. He turned to Sugarfoot and made himself as tall as possible. "All right Sugarfoot. You can lie to Toontown, blackmail the mayor, and refuse to validate my parking, but _tying Lucky up_ is where I draw the line!"

The piercing familiarity of Bonkers' voice roused Lucky, who slowly starting coming out of his daze with a mumbled, "Bonkers?"

"Well Bobcat, I didn't expect  _you_ to show up," Sugarfoot drawled, taking a slow step forward and drawing his gun. "But what the hell? The more the merrier, right?"

Lucky scoffed at the sight of the gun. "Newsflash, genius: bullets can't kill  _toons."_

"Not the ones in  _your_ little  _cop_ pistol there, that's true," Sugarfoot replied, motioning to Lucky's gun, which had fallen to the floor when Ott knocked him out. "But turpentine bullets? Those'll take out a toon  _just fine."_ Sugarfoot grinned and leveled the gun at Gimblebee. "Care to see a demonstration, officer?" he barked, throwing a laugh over his shoulder to Lucky.

Bonkers' eyes widened. "No, wait!" he cried.

Sugarfoot smirked. "Don't get antsy, Bobcat. You'll get your turn."

"K!" Bonkers burst.  _"K!"_

"'K'?" Without taking the gun off of Gimblebee, Sugarfoot gave Bonkers a strange look. "Never heard a toon so complacent about his imminent death. You're a strange cat, you know that?"

"K! That's what makes this whole case make  _sense!"_ Bonkers bellowed. "The poster was signed  _K!"_

" _Yes,_ and that's why  _K_ ing Ring-a-Ding is standing with a gun in Gimblebee's face!" Lucky retorted in a sing-song voice. "It's not  _good_ to aggravate the  _guy with the gun,_ Bonkers!" he hissed.

Bonkers slid in between Sugarfoot and Gimblebee, who stood trembling before the gun. "Lucky,  _this_ isn't King Ring-a-Ding," Bonkers said, motioning to Sugarfoot. He pointed meekly to Gimblebee.  _"This_ is King Ring-a-Ding!"

"What? But it can't be!" Lucky replied. "For the last time Bonkers, it doesn't make  _sense_  if – "

"B-But it's  _true!"_ Gimblebee spluttered, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. "I  _am_ King Ring-a-Ding – or at least I  _used_ to be."

Lucky looked as though his head was spinning. "But then who is  _K?"_

" _This_ is K," Bonkers answered, motioning to Sugarfoot with his thumb. "Otherwise known as his stage name when he was a kid –  _Knothead."_

Lucky arched an eyebrow in puzzlement. "Knothead? Who the heck is Knothead?"

"Only the best damn kid toon actor Toontown ever  _saw!"_ Sugarfoot thundered indignantly in amazement that someone hadn't heard of him.

"On the Woody Woodpecker Show!" Bonkers clarified brightly. "On the show, Woody had a niece and a nephew. The  _nephew_ was  _Knothead."_

"You mean Sugarfoot's had a revision too?" Lucky wanted to run a weary hand through his hair, but the tight knots courtesy of Ott made that impossible. "How the hell is anyone supposed to keep  _up_ with this?"

" _I've_ never needed a revision," Sugarfoot said, throwing a knowing glance at Gimblebee. "All  _I_ needed was a little woodpecker costume."

"It was cheaper than animating a new toon specifically for the part," Bonkers explained with a shrug.

"And the day that King Ring-a-Ding  _himself_ visited the set was the  _best_ day of my young life," Sugarfoot said darkly, moving slowly towards Gimblebee with intent. "The biggest star in Toontown. The King of Cartoons himself. When you stopped by the set, I thought I'd really made the big time. You didn't notice me, Ring-a-Ding, but I noticed you – even if that damn costume was heavy and hot as hell on a soundstage. I watched you showing Woody a few of your gags – gags that only  _you_  would do. You know which one I'm talking about?" He leaned in close to Gimblebee, his voice a fierce whisper. "You remember?"

Gimblebee stammered nonsensical words for a moment before offering, "T-The o-one with the glass of w-water."

"That's right." Sugarfoot turned to Bonkers and Lucky. "And why don't you tell our  _friends_ here about the gag. I'm sure they'll think it's  _hilarious."_

Sweat glistened on Gimblebee's forehead and his hands shook. In little more than a whisper, he managed, "T-The gag was that I'd – I'd drink a glass of water, and then I'd – I'd pump my tail, and the water would come out of my mouth like a fountain, and pour back into t-the glass."

Bonkers and Lucky exchanged a confused look. "What's so funny about that?" Bonkers ventured with a shrug.

" _Exactly!"_ Sugarfoot roared in response. "It wasn't funny at  _all!_ And Woody  _told_ him as much!" He suddenly thrust the gun under Gimblebee's chin, making Gimblebee shriek. "And a  _week_ later, dirt about Woody Woodpecker started turning up in all of the Toontown newspapers. Do you know how many  _double entendres_  can be made with the name  _Woodpecker?_ We were all out of a job within a  _month!"_

"Don't tell me this is all some petty revenge fantasy!" Lucky moaned.

"Far from it, human officer," Sugarfoot retorted, swiveling around to peer at him, Gimblebee momentarily forgotten. "I didn't give a damn. I knew, even at that age, that I was destined for bigger things. I'm not really one of those toons who, you know,  _likes_ other toons."

"I  _think_ we established that after our first meeting," Bonkers reminded Lucky quietly.

"So when King Ring-a-Ding disappeared after the scandal, I assumed, just like every  _other_  toon in Toontown, that I'd seen the last of him." Sugarfoot turned back to Gimblebee and sneered. "Until he came to audition at Sugarfoot Studios and did that  _same. stupid. gag._ he'd done for Woody all those years ago. I knew who you were  _right away."_ His face darkened. "And I saw my chance."

"Look, have a little mercy here! I'm a  _toon!"_ Gimblebee sobbed. "I was  _animated_ to entertain! It's what I was  _created_ for! How can you turn your back on what you were  _created_ for? I  _had_ to audition – I  _had_ to be in cartoons again!"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you betrayed your friends, your co-stars,  _and_ ruined the lives of totally innocent toons!" Bonkers burst.

"Oh  _that,"_ Gimblebee chuckled, as though it were nothing.  _"That_ was just a little light-hearted  _fun."_

"And people think  _I'm_ the criminal! Haw!" Sugarfoot guffawed. "See it from  _my_ point of view, gentleman: not  _only_ do I find the Toontown Mole, but he also  _happens_ to be the mayor of Toontown. And, his revision identity just  _happens_ to be that of a  _mole –_ a toon  _mole,_ get it? See how that might cause some trouble?" He gestured to Gimblebee and managed a guttural laugh that didn't contain one ounce of mirth. "And so he and I struck a little deal that was… _mutually_ beneficial."

"How was it  _mutually_ beneficial? It was  _extortion,_ nothing more!" Gimblebee shot back.

"Oh, I don't know. In return for all of Toontown's money, you got to keep your  _revision_ identity, instead of fearing for your life in front of an angry mob."

"Doesn't sound a whole lot different than politics, really," Lucky muttered.

" _But._ The money ran out, didn't it Ring-a-Ding?" Sugarfoot moved closer, just inches from Gimblebee. "And you tried one last, pathetic, Hail Mary scheme to hold off the wolves a little longer, didn't you?"

"I  _could_ have made your studio money as a star," Gimblebee stammered. "I was  _willing_ to work for free and let you have all of the royalties. I've been famous because of my talent before, Sugarfoot – I  _could_ have done it again!"

"Please! A tired old toon with an already instantly recognizable face from politics who only knows old gags from the 50's?" Sugarfoot tsked. "Not at  _my_ studio, Ring-a-Ding. I got a reputation to uphold." He suddenly broke out into hoarse laughter. "But the gloves – oh the  _gloves_ were a great touch!"

Lucky's ears perked, remembering the stained gloves he and Bonkers had found in Gimblebee's office. "What  _about_ the gloves?"

Sugarfoot was nearly doubled over in laughter, but managed to choke out, "Oh,  _fancy_ gray gloves! I should have known something was up when you came to audition for a  _second_ time with gray gloves! And the wine! Haw! I knew the Toontown coffers were empty as soon as you finished that idiotic, boring monologue and broke out the wine!" He elbowed Gimblebee in the ribs a little too stiffly, making Gimblebee wince. "He was so scared that he spilled the wine all over himself! Tell me, if a toon has money at his disposal, would he be so damn  _nervous_ in trying to impress me, to get me to let him off the hook for the money? Of course not!"

"And as soon as the money ran out, you told him you'd expose him – and  _that's_ why Gimblebee ran," Bonkers said. "Once Gimblebee was out of the picture, you could get what you were _really_ after – control of Toontown!"

Gimblebee had been reduced to a shambling mess in the corner, his knees tucked up under his chin, sobbing and awaiting his demise. 'Brave' had never been an attribute ascribed to Gimblebee – or King Ring-a-Ding, for that matter.

"Why, Bobcat, you're getting better at this, aren't you?" Sugarfoot simpered in a light-hearted tone. "I  _knew_ Toontown would have some fun when everyone found out Gimblebee was a  _one –_ one revision away from his original form! It will be a  _helluva_ lot of fun. I'm  _almost_  sorry that none of you will live to see it." He checked his gun and then turned to level it at Lucky with a dark grin. "But first things first. It's not like I can just let you two honorable officers of the law just walk out of here, can I?" He turned to Ott. "Go get the car ready. We're going to have a lot of 'trash' to take out tonight." Ott nodded obligingly and exited.

"How  _could_ you Sugarfoot?" Bonkers admonished. "All of this, and for what? A chance to run Toontown into the ground?  _Eventually_ someone will rat you out, Sugarfoot. Look around you – you've got no friends, no one who gives a damn about you. You're  _feared,_ not  _respected,_ and there's a  _big_ difference!"

"And what the hell would a toon know about friendship and respect, eh?" Sugarfoot goaded. " _Friendship_ and  _respect_ have no place in Toontown!"

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Smarty-Pants," Bonkers chided, crossing his arms in front of himself. "Lucky's my best friend  _and_ I respect him! He put his massive butt on the line again and again for me and  _all_ of the toons in this town – "

"Don't bring me into this," Lucky mumbled, gritting his teeth.

" – and  _that's_ a Toontown worth fighting for!"

"Oh really?" Sugarfoot leveled the gun at Lucky once again. "But is your love for Toontown, and your respect for your friend, enough to  _die_ for?"

Bonkers' expression was unwavering. "Always has been, always will be," he stated resolutely.

With this, Bonkers leapt at Sugarfoot. Though Bonkers was far smaller than Sugarfoot, the goliath mogul was nonetheless surprised and leapt back, staggering towards the wall. Sugarfoot broke free of Bonkers' grasp, throwing the bobcat to the floor. A cruel grin seized Sugarfoot's face and he shouted, "You know, I always  _did_ love an exciting ending!"

The sound of the consequent gunshot made Lucky's ears ring so violently that he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he ventured a peek, he saw Bonkers kneeling nearby, staring dazedly at a rapidly expanding spot of ink on his chest.

Lucky's heart suddenly seemed to be in his throat. "Bonkers!" he exclaimed in a panicked voice.

"'Hooo boy, that's not good," Bonkers offered weakly, watching as the ink soaked through his shirt, his very life-force seeping away.

"If it's any consolation, officer,  _lots_ of people think toons go to heaven too," Sugarfoot said, raising his gun towards Lucky, who flinched, waiting for the inevitable.

The door to the office suddenly flew open. Before Sugarfoot could turn around to face the intruder, he'd already been knocked out cold with a baton wielded by a babe in uniform.

Lucky had never been so glad to see Miranda Wright in his life.

At least a dozen more officers immediately poured into the room, grabbing Gimblebee just as he was about to climb out the window and handcuffing Sugarfoot as he lay unconscious. Miranda caught sight of Bonkers and slid towards him. She rolled him over to see the front of his shirt was entirely soaked with black ink; she gasped involuntarily.

"I got here as quick as I could, as soon as you called – " she whispered to him apologetically, despite the fact that her former partner was now unconscious in her arms. "I couldn't – I couldn't get here any faster, Bonkers, I'm sorry – "

One of the other officers had untied Lucky, and now it was Lucky who was on his knees next to Bonkers. His throat constricted at the shock of seeing Bonkers' usual bright colors becoming faded as the toon rapidly lost more and more ink. He found his voice and sputtered, "My God. We've got to – "

"We need an ambulance!" one of the officers called towards the hallway, having caught sight of Bonkers.

"An ambulance won't do any good. We need an animator!" Miranda corrected him.

Lucky had already scooped up Bonkers in his arms and was running for the exit, shouting,  _"Marilyn! I've got to find Marilyn!"_


	8. Chapter 8

**Six Weeks Later**

"Perhaps a gold tinting, or – no wait! –  _persimmon._ Yep! That's the one. Even the name sounds cool.  _Perrrrsimmonnn."_ Bonkers held the handheld mirror further from him and studied for a moment. "Hm. Maybe ocher. That's a real thing, right?"

"Sure," Marilyn answered with a shrug and a small smile. "But why mess with perfection?"

"You're right!" Bonkers declared happily, tossing the mirror up to Marilyn. " _Orange_  is the new  _black_. Netflix told me so."

He settled back into the chair while Marilyn began mixing up the same bright orange color they always ended up deciding on, and noticed with dismay that except for a few drops, the container was empty. "Shoot. I forgot that I was almost out of orange, after you – " She stopped short and shot a small, apologetic smile to the bobcat next to her.

" – after you used a  _whole lot_ of ink to save my life," Bonkers replied with no hint of hurt. She breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Yes. That. I'm sorry, it's just – that was such a terrible night, for everyone, and – "

" – and it's over now!" Bonkers said. "And I feel great, and if I'm being  _perfectly_ honest,  _I_ look great – and it's all thanks to you!"

Marilyn couldn't help but grin and give him a light noogie for good measure. "Anytime, Bonkers," she returned affectionately.

A new container of orange ink from the supply closet in hand, Marilyn got down to work on Bonkers' finishing touches. She'd never forget that night six weeks ago when Lucky had called her in a state of panic she'd seldom heard and told her to get down to the station as quickly as she could. He hadn't explained why, but there could only be one real reason why an animator would get called down at that time of the night – a dying toon needed her help.

Marilyn wasn't as experienced as many other animators, being so young, and had never responded to a repair job anywhere near as serious as the one that greeted her upon dashing into the station's re-inking clinic, of which she was the sole employee. Her heart had dropped upon catching sight of Bonkers, unconscious and looking decidedly less colorful as his life-source seeped out of him, ink pooling on the floor below. It was rare that a toon survived a turpentine bullet, but she had to at least try. She'd had to push past her emotions in order to work quickly and steadily. For several hours, Bonkers only had a tenuous grasp on life as Lucky and Miranda waited outside the clinic pacing silently. Marilyn continued working even as the sun broke over the horizon and other animators, who had been called in to assist, told her that it was over.

But she refused to stop. Every second she spent hunched over his limp form, memories of growing up with Bonkers and her father raced through her mind. Her last memory of Bonkers couldn't be like this – it just couldn't.

And then at last he'd slowly opened his eyes, looked at Marilyn, and feebly croaked, "What do you call a line of bunnies moving backwards? A receding h-h-h- _hareline_."

She very nearly burst into tears – and not only because it was a terrible joke.

The next couple of weeks had been rough; between Bonkers trying to recover from his injuries (with Marilyn doing patch jobs every few days as the ink dried) and Lucky wrapping up the Sugarfoot case, everyone involved was exhausted. Grating had given Bonkers six weeks of leave to recuperate, and Lucky had headed back to Washington shortly thereafter.

The last thing he'd done before getting on a plane was to make Bonkers  _promise_ not to quit the force.

The door to the office opened and Miranda stuck her head in, giving a grin to the bobcat in the chair. "Thought I'd find you here."

"Miranda!" Bonkers cried happily in greeting. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to attend this hoity-toity  _award_ ceremony for my favorite ex-partner," Miranda said, standing in the doorway and crossing her arms in front of herself. "He's getting a bravery award from the Mayor of Toontown himself. Any idea where I could find him?"

"If you're referring to the toon who saved Toontown from a fate worse than Sugarfoot Cartoons and who  _also_ happens to be a sporting a pretty spectacular ink-job if I do say so myself, he's right here," Marilyn said as she turned off her inking pen and patted Bonkers on the shoulder. "All right, Bonkers. You're as good as the day you were drawn."

"You bet I am! Even better! I'm the latest model!" he declared, jumping down from the chair flexing his non-existent muscles. "Featuring a fresh coat of orange, brand new gloves, a new uniform with no bullet holes in it, the shiniest badge in the department, and a clean bill of health, this bobcat's  _rarin'_  to go!"

Miranda gave him a crooked smile and motioned towards the door. "Well then, shall we?"

"You go ahead Miranda. I'll be right there," Bonkers replied, and watched as Miranda left the office and closed the door behind her.

"What's wrong?" Marilyn asked in a concerned voice. "Did I miss a spot?"

In response, she suddenly found herself the recipient of one of Bonkers' patented bear hugs. "Nah. I just wanted to thank  _the_ _ **best**_ _animator on the West Coast_ for saving my life and giving me the  _best looking ink-job_  in the Toon Division, that's all." He leaned in next to her and whispered, "Thanks for not giving up, Marilyn."

Marilyn blushed and smiled broadly. "Don't mention it. Go on. You're going to be late."

Miranda was waiting for Bonkers in the hall and gave him a playful look of scrutiny. "You're right," she admitted. "You  _do_ look better with black spots."

"Of course I do! Now that Sugarfoot and Gimblebee are in prison –  _where they belong, thank you very much –_ and Barney's been demoted again for excessively long lunch breaks – who needs three hours to eat a burrito?  _Geesh!_  – who knows  _what_ new evils will rear their ugly heads on the  _mean streets_ of Toontown? Or even the  _nice streets_ of Toontown, the ones that have those well-manicured medians with little friendly signs asking you not to litter and wide curbs so you aren't constantly in danger of hitting them when you're trying to change the radio sta – "

"Bonkers."

"Well, you get the idea," He beamed up at Miranda. "I'm glad you made it today, Miranda. The only way it could be any better is if Lucky was here, too."

"I know he wanted to make it, Bonkers, but the FBI keeps him pretty busy," Miranda answered with an apologetic shrug. "We're a long way from D.C."

"You're right," Bonkers conceded with a small sigh. His brow furrowed in concentration. "I've had a lot of time to think over the last six weeks. I just wish I could tell him that being his partner again made me realize that being a  _cop_ is what I'm meant to be – not a writer, or an advice columnist, or anything else. I'm  _meant_ to be here," he said. "Even if I'm not as good a cop as Lucky."

"Now  _that's_ where you're wrong," a voice called behind them. Miranda and Bonkers turned to see Lucky striding down the hall towards them wearing a genuine grin.

"Lucky! You made it!" Bonkers cried.

"Well, I couldn't leave things the way they were when I left," Lucky asserted. He yanked the bill on Bonkers' hat good-naturedly. "Though I'm glad you took my advice to reconsider quitting. The Toon Division needs cops like you." He knelt down to Bonkers' level. "Look, I'm sorry for not believing you about all those clues – and about not believing that a toon cop could get the job done." He patted Bonkers on the shoulder. "I don't always understand  _how_ you get the job done – but you always do."

"Thanks, partner – er,  _ex-_ partner," Bonkers said, quivering tears brimming in his eyes. "You're the best cop I know."

Despite himself, Lucky pulled Bonkers into a hug. "Right back at you, buddy," he replied sincerely.

.

* * *

.

"Six weeks ago, Toontown was in chaos. Er, more chaos than it  _normally_ is, I mean. An  _excessively excessive_ amount of chaos. Anyway. You know what I mean. Ahem. The former Mayor was on the run, Toontown was broke, and a studio tyrant was on his way to gaining power over every toon in Toontown. Luckily, there was one toon who wasn't afraid to stand up, to fearlessly defend his city, and to set right the wrongs of the past. That toon – " the Mayor paused dramatically, " – was me, Mickey Mouse, elected in a  _landslide_ special election. Let me say that again. A  _landslide."_

He looked eagerly out at the audience of police, reporters and other elected officials. The deputy mayor alone clapped meekly.

Mickey cleared his throat awkwardly and continued, "But of course, that's not why we're here today. Today, we're here to commemorate the brave actions of an officer who very nearly gave his life in the line of duty to protect the citizens of Toontown. If it wasn't for his skill and his bravery, the criminals would have never been brought to justice.  _But."_ Mickey's expression darkened somewhat."If it wasn't for him being a  _toon,_ no human on this police force would have had the  _slightest_ idea of  _how_  to crack the case." He crossed his arms stubbornly. "I invite  _any_ of you to refute that fact."

Chastened, the human members of the police audience awkwardly fumbled with their ties, hats and anything else to avoid Mickey's gaze.

"Right. I think that settles  _that,"_ Mickey said resolutely after a long moment. "Without further ado, it is my privileged duty to present the Toontown Medal of Bravery to Officer Bonkers D. Bobcat, in great appreciation for his long record of extraordinary service, and especially for his work on the Sugarfoot case."

After Mickey's reprimand, the audience seemed almost over-eager to burst into applause as Bonkers hopped up the steps, where Mickey shook his hand vigorously. "Hiya Mickey!" Bonkers whispered excitedly, shaking Mickey's hand with far more force than necessary. "I just  _knew_ you'd make a great mayor! Everyone who says your ears are too big to ever be taken seriously as a politician has pudding for brains! You'll be an inspiration to all the freakishly-eared toons in Toontown who want to  _make_ something of themselves!"

"Uh…gee thanks, Bonkers, but I'm going to need my arm back if I'm going to award you this medal."

"Hm? Wha?" Bonkers looked down to find he was still pumping Mickey's arm with just slightly less force than one would use to pump a dry well. He tittered nervously. "Sorry about that, Mic – I mean,  _Mayor_ Mickey."

Mickey smiled; no matter how many times someone said that, he still hadn't gotten tired of it. Retrieving a shiny gold medal from a plush velvet box that the deputy mayor held out to him, Mickey draped the medal around Bonkers' neck. Before pulling away, he whispered to Bonkers, "I had a little talk with Captain Grating after the election regarding the future of criminal justice in Toontown. Now that you've proved that toons can do just as good a job as humans, I think we're going to see some changes at the Toon Division!"

After a solid hour of cameras flashing, reporters asking for interviews, and handshakes, Bonkers was finally able to escape into the hallway. "Whew!" he breathed, wiping his forehead. "Who knew award ceremonies were so physically  _demanding?"_

"Bobcat!" Captain Grating's voice thundered down the hallway. Bonkers instinctively stood to attention as Grating approached him, eyeing him somewhat warily. "Feeling better?"

"Yes sir, all bright and shiny and new! Ready to get back on the beat!"

"Good. Come to my office, Bobcat, there's something I want to discuss with you."

Bonkers hesitated. "Well gee Cap, I was hoping I could catch up to Lucky and say goodbye before he left for Washington."

"Don't bother. He's in my office too."

The two began to walk down the hall together. "What's Lucky doing in your office?" Bonkers asked. His face lit up. "Wait a minute! Our zany adventure convinced him that his true home is in the Toon Division, that I'm the best partner he's ever had, and he's quitting the FBI to move back to L.A.? Is that it? Tell me that's it!"

Grating scoffed.  _"No._ Are you crazy? The FBI's benefits package is far better than ours. No, I just had a matter to discuss with you, Bobcat, and I asked that he be there." He stopped short at the door of his office and cleared his throat gruffly. "While we're  _alone_ and away from prying ears, I – I wanted to  _personally_ commend you for your work." He fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment before admitting, "I do  _confess_ that I initially thought it was a bad idea for Piquel to take you on as a partner in this case, but he tells me that you were responsible for all the breaks in the case and that he has rarely worked with a finer officer than you. Those were his exact words." Grating peered down at Bonkers with something akin to a small amount of respect. "That's pretty high praise, Officer. Well done."

"Th-Thanks, Cap," Bonkers managed to squeak. He sniffed and wiped a finger under his nose. "You know, I never knew my father – " he began in a wavering voice.

"Oh criminey. Bobcat, let's not – "

"Well actually I did, he was a 3B lead pencil. But nevertheless, he was  _sharp_  and only ever thought in black and white and although he left his mark on the world, it left him dull."

Grating's expression was deadpan. "Because he was a pencil."

"Yes, because he was a – but Cap, the Toon Division has been sort of like a – a –  _second_ family to me! I mean Marilyn and Miranda and  _Lucky._ You know I was actually considering _leaving the force_  for a while?"

Grating's face fell. "You mean I could have gotten rid of – uh, I mean…we would have been  _deprived of your company?"_

"No worries, Cap! This little escapade has showed me that this is  _right_ where I belong, and I'm not going  _anywhere!"_ Bonkers crowed heartily.

Grating's shoulders sank but he tried to keep his expression upbeat as he opened the door to lead them into the office. "Well, we're – we're glad to have you, Bobcat," he said – and he was pretty sure that he even  _meant_ it. "Sit down, please. I have something I want to announce."

Bonkers leapt into the seat beside Lucky, who gave him a wink.

Grating cleared his throat again and folded his hands in front of him as he sat behind the desk, hoping he looked somewhat stately and authoritative. "In light of your long experience as an officer in this department, and the exemplary manner in which you carry out your duties, I have decided to promote you directly to Lieutenant, not only because you  _probably_ deserve it, but also because  _anyone_ could do a better job than that  _oaf_ Barney – "

Grating didn't get to finish his sentence, as Bonkers had launched himself from the chair and began to shower Grating with kisses in between proclamations of, "Oh you won't regret it, sir! Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! I'll be the  _best_ Lieutenant the Toon Division ever had! Mwah! Thank you Captain Grating! Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"All right, all right!" Grating bellowed, disentangling himself from the toon and setting him to the floor. He smoothed out his uniform. "That's all, Bobcat. I'm sure you want to clean out your desk downstairs, and – "

"No way!" Bonkers burst. He caught himself and saluted. "Captain Grating, I request that I be allowed to keep my office in the basement,  _sir!"_

With Grating only too happy to comply since it would keep a level separating he and Bonkers, Bonkers and Lucky exited the office a minute later and began to make their way towards the basement office.

"Brings back a lot of memories," Lucky said wistfully as they came to the door of Bonkers' office.

"Do you ever miss it?" Bonkers asked. "Ever consider, say, coming back to the Toon Division? Now that I'm an  _authority figure_ in this department, I could probably swing it!"

"What, you kidding? And miss out on the FBI's benefits package?" Lucky caught himself and cleared his throat. "I mean, uh – thanks for offer, Bonkers, but I'm happy where I am." He smiled with his hand on the doorknob. "But I know there are a lot of people  _here_ who are pretty happy you're back."

Lucky threw open the door to reveal Marilyn, Miranda, Fall Apart Rabbit and Mickey inside the office.  _"Surprise!"_ they all shouted in unison, before Mickey came forward to shake Bonkers' hand.

"Good job, Bonkers! Oh, all of Toontown is sure proud of you! The very first toon to make  _lieutenant!"_

"I'm proud of you too, Bonkers," Miranda said with a smile, ruffling Bonkers' hair as she so often did. "I knew you could do it."

"And you know anytime you need a touch-up or just want to drop in, I'll always be glad to have you down at the clinic," Marilyn added.

"Did you know there are little bugs that live in our eyebrows?" Fall Apart chimed in from the back.

"I wanted all of them here to make it official," Lucky explained, pulling a black velvet box out of his back pocket. Bonkers looked skeptical.

"But Lucky, I thought you were  _already_  married."

Lucky grimaced. "It's not a  _ring,_ it's – oh, for Pete's sake." He opened the box, and a gold bar signifying the rank of lieutenant gleamed back up at Bonkers.

"Wooow," Bonkers intoned in awe.

Lucky deftly pulled it out of the box and pinned it to Bonkers' new uniform. "There," Lucky said, satisfied. He turned to the others in the office. "Ladies and gentleman, may I present to you  _Lieutenant_  Bonkers D. Bobcat of the Toon Division of the LAPD." He slapped Bonkers on the back affectionately. "How's it feel?"

Bonkers looked to each of his friends slowly, and sighed contentedly. "You know, there's only one thing that could make this better."

"What that, Bonkers?" Marilyn asked.

Bonkers licked his chops. "Some of Big Louie's famous hot dogs with extra relish! My treat! Let's go!"


End file.
